


With Eyes, and Hands to Touch

by red_crate



Series: See and Touch [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Derek Hale & Scott McCall are Siblings, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Epilogue, Forced Masturbation, Happy Ending, Horny Teenagers, M/M, McCall Family Feels, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Scott is a Good Friend, Sexting, Slow Build, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-08-14 04:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16485551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: The summer before high school starts, and all Stiles wants to do is hang out with Scott and work on his plan to win over Lydia.But then Scott's brother, Derek, becomes an accidental distraction.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of my first Teen wolf long fic, which was written back in 2014 and abandoned as a WiP and eventually deleted. 
> 
> Be warned that thia fic is underaged. Stiles is 13/14 while Derek is 15/16. There is sexual content. If youre uncomfortable with reading that, please hit the back button.
> 
> This fic is also dated af by some of my references lol. But have fun reading it. Updates will be every Thursday in November and December.

 

The clock by Scott’s bed says it’s seven thirty-six in big, red numbers. Stiles wipes at his eyes with the palms of his hands and stares up at the ceiling for a few minutes, willing himself back to sleep. It’s been four days since school let out for summer, and his body is still conditioned to wake up at such an ungodly time. Doesn’t matter that they didn’t go to sleep until three this morning. He rolls over, stares at his best friend’s face which is less than three inches from his own. Scott snuffles in his sleep, and he’s got pillow creases on his cheek like it hasn’t been that long since he switched sides. His morning breath, hot and stale, is enough to get Stiles pouring himself out of bed and grabbing the first pair of sweats he finds.

Melissa, Scott’s mom, is off today so Stiles makes sure to be stealthy as possible when he pads downstairs to get a glass of water. His dad works crazy long hours sometimes and swing shifts too; Stiles has gotten pretty good at letting sleeping parents lie. Besides, maybe he’ll be able to grab a couple more hours of sleep before Scott gets all sunshine smiles on his ass and makes him do something annoying like _shower_ before Melissa takes them Putt-Putting as promised. After he swallows down half a glass of tap water, he sneaks back upstairs.

When Stiles passes the bathroom, he notices the door is open and the light on, which means he isn't the only person already awake. In the mirror, Stiles catches the reflection of Scott’s brother, Derek. He’s bare-chested and shaving. It’s because Stiles is still kinda sleepy and it's so damn early that he just sort of stands there watching the disposable razor as Derek makes steady progress. Watery shaving cream slides down Derek’s throat after each stroke. He zones out, following a particularly thick dribble where it curves against Derek’s Adam’s apple.

He is suddenly shaken out of his reverie by Derek barking, “Go away, perv.” Derek has moved away from the mirror and has one hand on the door handle, still clutching his razor with the other. “It’s not a free show.”

Stiles rolls his eyes as the bathroom door is slammed shut in his face. Despite the closed door, he says, “I was just surprised by how pathetic you are—shaving the measly _three hairs_ on your chin like you think you’re some kind of mountain man or something.”

“So sorry you haven’t hit puberty yet, Stiles.” Derek has wrenched open the door again, because he just has to get the last word in. “Maybe if you wish really hard, one day you’ll be a real boy.” He flicks the razor at Stiles, getting shaving cream and water on the hallway floor more than Stiles; still, it’s annoying.

He wipes at his chin and says, “why don’t you leave the witty retorts to the professionals, Derek, because you got no game.”

“ _Guys_ ,” Melissa sighs from where she’s opened her bedroom door. “Can you please be quiet? I have another three hours before we are supposed to head out.” She looks over at Stiles. “Don’t provoke the teenager, Stiles.”

“Hey, I didn’t do anything!” He glares at the bathroom door which is shut again. He rolls his eyes and heads back to Scott’s room, pausing to apologize to Melissa for waking her.

“No problem, kiddo, just keep it down until eleven.” Melissa gives him a weary smile then closes her door, leaving Stiles to his lonesome.

Scott is still breathing heavily, twisted up in the sheets, when Stiles returns to bed. In his unconscious state, Scott shifts over to give Stiles just enough room to lie down comfortably.

* * *

 

“You got this, Melissa.” Stiles claps his hands and whoops in enthusiasm. “Give that windmill a beat down!”

“I thought golf was supposed to be a _quiet_ sport.” Derek mutters from where he’s standing to the left, next to Scott.

“Good thing this is Putt-Putt, then,” Stiles bites the words out, enjoying the look of irritation on Derek’s face. “Stop being a jerk just because your mom forced you to spend a little quality family time.”

“You’re not family.” Derek growls. “ _Thank, God_.”

“Guys!” Scott and Melissa shout at the same time, in scarily similar voices. They both look a little frustrated but whatever.

“As far as you’re concerned, my sentiments, exactly.” Stiles twirls his club in his left hand and looks away because Derek is so not worth his time. He spots—“Oh my God.” He slaps Scott in the chest. “Oh my God, _Scott_.”

Scott grabs at Stiles’ hand, clamping it a little too tightly in his own before following Stiles’ gaze. “Hey, it’s Jackson and Lydia.”

“Yes!” Melissa jumps a little in her spot, swinging around to the boys. “Did you see—oh. Stiles, you’re supposed to be paying attention to me. You’re being a crappy date.”

Still staring at the top of Lydia’s tanned, toned legs where they are barely covered by a filmy skirt, Stiles asks, distracted, “So does that mean that Derek is Scott’s date, because that’s kinda skeevy.”

Derek whacks Stiles on the back of the head. “Gross. Stop being a stalker. A girl like that will never want someone like you.” They all watch as Jackson backs a coyly smiling Lydia against a fake cave. Their kiss is R-rated, with hands going all over the place. “She obviously likes guys with a little more experience.”

“It looks like he’s trying to eat her face.” Scott sounds disgusted and awed at the same time.

Stiles is feeling a little tight in the pants but takes a half step towards the first hole where the girl of his dreams is being orally screwed by Jackson’s revolting tongue. “I should go…help her. She can’t be enjoying that.”

“Oh,” Derek starts, way too close to Stiles’ ear, “I think she’s enjoying it just fine.” He blows on the sensitive skin behind Stiles’ jaw and chuckles when Stiles shivers. “So easy. You don’t stand a chance.”

“Hey, let’s get a move on.” Melissa tugs at Derek and Stiles’ shirts. “I don’t feel like explaining to the sheriff why I had to give his son the sex talk while we were Putt-Putting.” She shakes her head when she sees Lydia and Jackson. “They are way too young to be doing that.”

* * *

 

“Don’t you ever go home?” Derek looks resigned, tired, when he opens the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of Gatorade. He cracks the lid and gives Stiles a weak glare.

“Dude, I went home for like four days. I wouldn’t have,” Stiles digs into his pocket and pulls out a small silver cell phone, “this if I wasn’t home at some point. Dad gave it to me because he’s worried I’ll get myself into trouble.” He knows he sounds inordinately pleased with himself, and he doesn’t care.

Wiping at the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, Derek says, “A cell phone, wow. Because I haven’t had one of those since I was twelve.”

He smells like sweaty jock, because he’s been _running_ for _fun_ or something. Derek’s been doing that and going to the gym like three times a week for the past couple of months. It’s weird, and Stiles doesn’t know why anyone would inflict that kind of punishment on themselves. He can admit though, silently and on pain of death, that Derek’s starting to look a lot less scrawny than Stiles remembers him being in January.

Back to the matter at hand though, he’s offended on his best friend’s behalf. “If you got yours at twelve, how come Scott doesn’t have one yet?”

Chomping on a tortilla chip he stole from the pile Stiles had just poured out, Derek says, “Because I had sports practices and away games when I was twelve. Besides, Scott hasn’t asked for one yet.”

When Derek goes to take another chip, Stiles bats his hand away and hunches protectively over the dish. He finishes pouring the shredded cheese on top and places the chips in the microwave. He pinches the dregs of cheddar cheese at the bottom of the bag, stuffing his fingers in his mouth while setting the timer for thirty seconds.

He turns back to Derek, swallowing. “Hey, give me your number.”

“Why would I do that?” Derek finishes off another third of the Gatorade, arching an eyebrow at Stiles.

“Because _trouble_? I’m being smart here, dude. Give me your number so if we get in a bind, we can get you to come rescue us. Isn’t that what big brothers are supposed to do?” The microwave dings, and he takes the nachos out.

They glare at each other for a few drawn out seconds. The plate of nachos is burning Stiles’ fingertips, but he’s not going to lose this game by wussing out. Derek relents finally, letting out a frustrated sigh. Grabbing Stiles’ cell phone, he punches in a few numbers and hits ‘send.’

“There. Use it wisely. If you spam me with ridiculous text messages about like World of Warcraft or something, I’ll block your number.” He slams Stiles in the chest with his cell phone. “Yours and Scott’s hypothetical safety be damned.”

“Dude, what’s the holdup?” Scott rounds the corner into the kitchen. “Hey, Derek.”

Derek gives another pointed look to Stiles before giving Scott a friendly shoulder check, and heading to a douchebag convention, or maybe just to shower off. Stiles doesn’t care.

“Get the queso Scott. I’m about to get down and dirty with these nachos.”

The cheddar cheese is melted in tiny hilltops, unevenly dispersed. It’s Derek’s fault, but at least Melissa is an awesome person who actually goes grocery shopping. This can be salvaged. He snatches the jar of queso dip Scott holds out, pours half the jar on top. He finds the olives Melissa hides behind the eggs and only uses a quarter of the jar because Stiles isn’t always a jerk.

“What else…”

Scott digs in the back of the refrigerator, shoulder pressing into Stiles’, and pulls out a small container of sliced jalapenos. He grins slyly.

“You’re a masochist, Scott.” He pulls out a tub of sour cream. “If we’re doing that, then I get to have this, because I’m actually fond of my tongue unlike _some people._ ”

He realizes what he’s said just as Scott jokes, “That’s what she said.”

“Ugh, you didn’t even do it right!” Stiles rolls his eyes, still laughs when Scott cackles.

“ _That’s what she said_!”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im behind on replying to comments, but ive read them all! Thank you. <3

It’s not that their friendship is co-dependent or anything, but Stiles is kind of worried about Scott. He is supposed to be leaving in the morning to stay with his dad for a week and a half. Rafael McCall is not a nice guy. So despite the fact that Dad specifically asked Stiles to stay home tonight, have dinner with him and watch NCIS reruns, he sneaks out of the house around midnight and bikes over to Scott’s. The dude is probably freaking out and playing like a metric ton of COD so he can work through the aggression Rafael seems to bring out in both his sons.

Or Scott is a lame-ass and is asleep.

Stiles pushes the window open and glowers at his best friend’s sleeping form. He checks the time on his cell phone. It’s twelve fourteen.  _ What even? _ He’s so tempted to kick the bed and wake Scott up. Instead, because Stiles is a good friend, he quietly walks by.

Scott’s suitcase is thrown open on the floor by his closet, half filled with wrinkled shirts and wads of underwear. He doesn’t even hesitate before digging through the back of Scott’s closet to find the shirts he outgrew three years ago. Scott doesn’t throw anything away unless Melissa physically forces him to. Because Stiles is a good friend, but still  _ Stiles _ , he switches out half the shirts Scott’s packed with the four grade team shirts Scott still has from elementary school.

They all have faded sharpie signatures wishing Scott to ‘ _ have a grate summer _ ’ and ‘ _ k.i.t _ .’ because everyone always acts like it’ll be a decade or something before anyone sees each other between school years. On the light orange Tiger Team shirt from first grade, Stiles knows there is a giant ‘SM + SS=BFF!!!’ on the right sleeve. He grins in the dark before sneaking into the hallway and down the stairs. Pulling benign pranks makes him thirsty.

He stops halfway down the stairs, because there’s a light on in the living room. He hadn’t seen Melissa’s car in the driveway when he’d tossed his bike against the bushes so it can’t be her reading or watching TV. It’s quiet, and he maybe thinks the light just got left on by accident but then…

…there is Derek sitting on the couch with a girl Stiles doesn’t recognize. And it’s not so much just  _ sitting _ with the girl, as Derek is acting as a seat to the girl. She’s sitting on Derek’s lap. Stiles gets a sense memory flashback to Scott sprawled on his thighs a couple weeks ago; he wonders if the girl feels like Scott had felt, if Derek likes the weight of her against him. Stiles is panicking a little because he knows he should turn around, head back up to Scott’s room, but if he looks away he won’t really  _ know _ that this is happening. For some reason, it’s important that this is real.

_ Research _ , Stiles manages to think. This is like research. More research. It’s basically just softcore porn. No biggie.

He crouches down on the step, gripping the banister spools in a sweaty grip, because the girl on Derek’s lap is wearing short shorts. Derek’s hands are gripping the back of her thighs while they kiss, fingers slipping up the edge of the denim and vanishing in the general area of her ass. If Stiles holds his breath and listens past the sound of blood rushing in his ears, he can hear the girl making ‘mmm’ noises while her hands disappear between them. Derek’s hips jolt upwards, and the girl laughs lightly, kissing down his neck and sliding off his lap.

Oh my God.  _ OhmyGod _ . Stiles’ eyes are burning from not blinking, but is she seriously going to—yeah.

The girl drops to her knees after pushing Derek’s legs apart, undoing the fly on his jeans and reaching inside his underwear. That, ladies and gentlemen, is Derek’s hard cock. Stiles swallows reflexively, in sympathy, when the girl leans forward and licks it. Derek’s head falls onto the back of the couch, and his hands push into the cushions like he’s trying to keep himself from grabbing the back of her head or coming or  _ something _ . When the girl bobs forward, looking from this angle like she’s taking his cock _ all the way down _ , Stiles bites his lip to keep from groaning.

Derek’s fingers finally tangle in the girl’s curly brown hair. He looks down at where she’s blowing him, breathing through spit slick lips. When he glances up, Stiles holds his breath again, freezes every single muscle in his body. Because Derek’s face has gone from pure bliss to outrage to disbelief to…something difficult to describe. He’s seen Stiles crouching there on the stairs like a total Peeping Tom.

Derek hisses, eyes closing tightly for a moment when the girl sucks harder or swirls her tongue or whatever. But then he’s back to staring Stiles down as if this is some kind of challenge. Punishment? Is Derek, like, punishing Stiles by glaring at him as he receives a blowjob? Oh God, the punishment is going to happen later, right? Because Derek, contrary to what Stiles loudly declares, is not actually a moron. Derek has obviously figured out that if he makes any kind move to call Stiles out right now, then the girl will freak out, and Derek will be left with blue balls.

Stiles is going to  _ die _ .

But first he’s going to watch Derek blow his load down a girl’s throat. It's not like he's going to go back upstairs now. Derek's already seen him, and he's not doing anything about it. Stiles might be murdered later, but in the meantime, he might as well earn his death.

Taking a deep breath and relaxing just a bit, Stiles resettles himself. It’s Derek’s fault for doing this kind of thing out in the open where anyone could stumble upon them, anyway. So Stiles doesn’t break eye contact with Derek. If he’s going to die later, he’s going to do it with dignity.

The girl speeds up, really going for it. She’s moaning around a mouthful of cock— _ Derek’s _ cock—just like Stiles has heard in the RedTube videos he hasn’t watched (hundreds of times). This is way more erotic in real life--to hear the sucking sounds, the moaning, Derek’s harsh breaths as he rolls his hips up. The girl slaps at Derek’s side after pulling off a bit because he (must have) choked her with that little movement. But then she’s going right back at it, leaving her hand on his stomach to hold him back.

“Shit. Oh fuck.” Derek grits out, eyes closing briefly before looking back at Stiles, brow knit. “Oh. Oh shit. I’m gonna—St” Derek pulls at the girl’s hair and lets out a long, low moan all at once.

She backs off quickly and gets come on her cheek for it. “Damn it, Derek. You could have given me a little more warning!” The girl swipes at her face before wiping her hands on Derek’s ruined jeans.

Derek is loose-limbed, mumbles, “Sorry,” this time looking at the girl. It takes him a few seconds to tuck his junk back into his boxers and zip back up. He flicks his eyes back to the stairs, to Stiles .

But Stiles is making a (quiet) run for it. He jumps over the squeaky stair and hugs the left side of the hallway because he doesn’t want the girl or Scott to realize he’s been  _ lurking _ . He softly shuts Scott’s door, locks it, and then goes for the bathroom. He locks that door too, and doesn’t turn on the light. He’s desperate, but he’s not an idiot who does sexual stuff where he can get caught *cough*Derek*cough*.

He quickly shucks his jeans to his ankles along with his briefs before his hand fists around his dick. Stiles squeezes just below the head and rubs at the vein as a quick, dirty tease because this ain’t gonna take long. His eyes slip shut as  he replays what just happened. In his mind, he’s imagining strawberry blonde hair instead.

Lydia on her knees in one of her flowery, short skirts kneeling over Derek’s cock—no  _ Stiles’ _ cock. She’s sucking him down and the slide of her lips, glossed with something expensive, feels…Stiles pumps faster. It’s got to be hot and wet and a stray thought about what kind of weight it might be on his— _ her _ — _ Lydia’s _ —tongue, if it tastes different. He imagines fingers in hair, tugging, digging blunt nails into his scalp.

Stiles comes, and his vision gets a little blurry for a second. He cleans off, tosses the evidence in the trash bin, and unlocks the bathroom door. Scott is still asleep like Stiles hasn’t just experienced something frightening and incredible at the same time. He really wants to wake Scott up and describe every horrifying, beautiful detail, but that would be weird right? Derek is Scott’s brother and probably doesn’t want to know what his cock looks like—how the pre-come had glinted in the light before the girl licked at it.

It’d be weird. Stiles climbs back out onto the roof and lets himself down the water drain. As he’s pedaling home, he can’t help but wish Derek had been the one going down on the girl because then Stiles might have been able to learn something  _ useful _ that he could try on Lydia when they finally get together.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Development!
> 
> ....and a lot of discussion of teeny-bopper!Justin Beiber (Im so sorry this is incredibly dated lol).

######  __

 

When he wakes up the next morning, Stiles jerks off. He jerks off in the shower a half hour later too. That’s not necessarily strange for him, but it’s not something that happens every day either. He chalks it up to a strong imagination and the visual stimulation Derek had inadvertently given him yesterday.

After lunch, he seriously considers another round but decides against it; just because he can doesn’t always mean he  _ should _ . Besides, that would make the next time (later, in a warm bath after Dad goes in for his night shift) less intense. Also, he can do some more visualization and expound upon the basic fantasy he’d lived (vicariously) last night. His bath is going to be so  _ good _ later.

For now, he’s bored, and Scott is on the other end of the state. Stiles needs more friends, because he’s actually weighing the possibility of texting Derek. He’s considering texting Derek despite the fact that there is a very good chance Stiles will be a dead man when the soon-to-be sixteen year-old gets back in town and has three seconds alone with him. Once more, last night’s memories float up to the forefront of Stiles’ mind. He suddenly pictures the intensity of Derek’s glare. Stiles’ face gets hot, but he ignores it, feeling high from the danger.

_ im bored. Wut r u doin? _

Never let it be said that Stiles doesn’t live on the edge.

_ Wincing in disgust at your atrocious spelling and grammar. I’m also plotting your violent and early death. Scott says ‘hey.’ _

Stiles rolls his eyes.

_ That was a sentence fragment so you can’t look down on me with your snobby Honors English crap. I can spell. Tell Scott I said hey too. _

_ Tell him ‘hey’ yourself when he calls later. I’m busy. _

_ Yea? Doin wut? _

_ I told you. I’m plotting your demise. It might involve acid and tar. _

_ She almost caught you. _

Stiles spins in his computer chair and grins without meaning to.

_ So r u mad she wuda got 2 kill me 1st or wur u worried about me dere bear? _

It’s like poking a rabid animal with a stick. But more with the fun and less with the animal cruelty. The level of threat is the same though.

_ -_- Do NOT call me that. You don’t even know how pissed I am at you. P.s. It took me three tries to understand what you just said. _   
  


_ Ur angry face does not translate good via txt dere bear. But FINE I will spell CORRECTLY from now on but only because I don’t feel like dealing with your whiny ass. _

_ Just so you know, typing correctly on this phone is HARD because it doesn’t have a qwerty keyboard. _

_ I’m flattered. Really. _

_ Sadly, your sarcasm DOES come through loud and clear in a text. Anyway, are you going to at least grant me an honorable death? _

_ Maybe you should just commit seppuku. _

Stiles isn’t going to admit that he had to Google that. Luckily, he’s crazy fast.

_ Yeah, no thanks. I don’t think that girl had any clue I was there. I didn’t MEAN to be there, anyway. It just happened. Sorry. _

_ Whatever. _

_ I think you’re just embarrassed because I found out that you’re a minute man. ;) _

That’s not true at all. Derek had lasted longer with a mouth on his dick than Stiles had managed when merely remembering what he'd seen. In comparison, Derek has stamina that Stiles can only wish for. But he’s not going to tell him that. Dude’s got a big enough ego.

_ Like you even LAST a minute with your right hand. _

_ Left. I use my left hand and she’s a lady so we take it nice and slow. _

_ TMI jeeze. I really don’t need the visual. _

_ I think we passed the point of TMI when I saw a girl whip out your dick and start sucking on it like it’s cherry flavored. _

_ Maybe it is. Maybe I have a magical cherry flavored dick. _

_ I call bull. If it tastes like anything other than dick, it’d taste like Neutrogena pore cleanser because you gave that chick a FACIAL. Hahahahahaha _

_ Lmao That’s so wrong, Stiles. _

_ But so TRUE. I doubt you’ll be getting any blowies from her in the next forever. It’s probably bad manners to come on her face without consent. _

_ It was an accident. Just wait until someone goes down on you. _

Stiles shifts in his seat and moves his junk around to relieve the pressure. Maybe he should have jerked off again, because this conversation is kind of getting to him. It’s just a freaking text conversation with Derek.

_ She shoulda just swallowed. Or at least let you shoot in her mouth and then spit.  _

_ This is a very weird conversation we are having, just saying. _

_ Your face is weird. _

_ You’ve seriously just made me regret the last ten minutes of my life. _

Stiles chews on his lip for a few seconds, feeling conflicted for some reason. It’s not like he actually cares whether or not Derek enjoys talking to him. After all, Derek is a jerk most of the time. Still though, Derek is the only person in easy access to talk to for the next eight freaking days.

_ Statistically impossible. I make everything awesome. Your day has just been made wonderful because of me. _

_ Sure, believe what you need to. _

Their conversation is much less sex-oriented from there on out, and then Derek says he has to go because Rafael is glaring at him. Apparently they are supposed to be having a father/son day at the gun range. From what Stiles has gathered neither Scott or Derek is particularly impressed with their father’s lack of imagination considering he’s a FBI agent.

The rest of the night is spent eating a Cobb salad with his dad and watching three hours of NCIS. It’s capped off with a very nice bath. He uses the oil beads that came in a gift basket last Christmas his dad got from the Bad Santa exchange at the station. Stiles jerks it just like he’d told Derek, slow and languid.

* * *

It’s not stalking if he just happens upon her.

Stiles didn’t actually expect to run into Lydia at the mall considering it’s one o’clock in the afternoon on a Monday. He’s not surprised to see her here, but that’s just circumstantial evidence or whatever. Besides, Stiles is totally in the market for a new pair of sunglasses and the hella expensive ones sold at Macy’s over by the perfume section seem like a good place to start. The fact that Stiles has exactly thirty dollars on his person is null.

So, he’s standing by a display of sunglasses with his fingers trailing over the different styles like he’s not sure which pair to go with. He surreptitiously watches the three girls standing by a tasteful display of Michael Kors bags. They might as well be three states away from him, considering the way no one even bats an eyelash in his general direction. The sunglasses are a good cover though. He grabs a pair of giant ones with pink arms and a cat outline on one of the lenses and shoved it onto his face.

“Jackson’s trying to grow out his hair.” Lydia speaks with disdain and a delicate roll of the eyes. She picks up a small purse, cockinh her head as she considers it. The two girls around her, Amber and Whitney, hold back a response until she says, “I told him long hair is stupid and childish at our age. Besides, he doesn’t have the bone structure to pull off long hair.”

Whitney agrees, “Long hair on boys is  _ so over. _ Even Justin Bieber cut his off.”

Stiles steps closer to the display so he’s less likely to be seen. He grimaces into the little mirror provided, half his face is hidden by the bug-eyed sunglasses and his shaggy hair just sort of hangs limply over the frames. He swaps them out for a silver pair of aviators. Pink isn’t his color.

“Justin Bieber? Please don’t even mention his name, Whitney.” Amber scoffs as she glances at Lydia.

Lydia is silent, ignoring her friends as she walks a little further away and frowns at some giant wallet purse things. The two girls trail behind her in their matching strappy sandals. Stiles watches, fascinated, like always, as the girls try to keep Lydia’s attention, her approval.

“Well, I mean long hair only looks good if it’s shoulder length and thick.” Amber goes for a different angle as she nervously ticks a finger against her thigh. “And really, white guys look dumb with long hair.”

Lydia hums and, without looking at either of her lackeys, says, “Generalizing an entire group of people is small-minded, Amber. And Whitney, stop pretending you don’t still have a Justin Bieber poster on your bedroom wall.”

Stiles makes a duck face in the mirror and snaps a picture with his cell phone even though the resolution is crappy. He sends it to Derek, because it’s Derek’s birthday and people need more Stiles in their lives, okay? Also, Stiles only has three numbers in his cell phone that belong to actual people (sadly, Domino’s Pizza does not count as a contact) and the other two people are his dad and Melissa McCall.

_ Happy birthday, loser. I miss Scott. _

Lydia and her groupies have moved further away, now looking at the lingerie section. Oh God, Stiles  _ wants _ . He wants so hard.

_ Scott doesn’t miss you. In fact, he’s forgotten what a Stiles even is. Stop texting lame ass duck face pictures. _

_ My duck face is a work of art. Scott does too miss me. I can feel it all the way over here. _

Stealthily moving away from the perfume counter and towards the racks of filmy nighties and plush bathrobes, he tries to figure out how he can casually linger. He’s doing recon here. By the walkway separating the lingerie and shoe sections, there is a small table holding boxed costume jewelry. He starts fiddling with a silver quarter moon pendant. Stiles is king of the blend-in. 

Not really. He’s well aware of how little he ranks on Lydia’s radar—which is the littlest of little. He’s okay with that for now though because he has a five year plan on how to get her. And the first step is research.

_ No _ **_._ **

Stiles cracks a smile at Derek’s dry wit. Even though he and Derek don’t generally get along (or didn’t get along--this whole texting thing has helped smooth things somehow), they’ve always managed to do a good job of bantering. Yeah, Melissa and Scott usually label their interactions as ‘bickering’ but there’s definitely an undercurrent of  _ banter _ between them.

“Are you going to McCall’s birthday party?” Amber asks, her voice light like she doesn’t have a real interest in Lydia’s answer. Stiles will give the girl credit for doing a passable impersonation of his strawberry blonde goddess.

Lydia purses her mouth and looks at the ceiling. “I haven’t decided. He’s a sophomore, but he’s not really that big of a deal. And the poor boy is in dire need of a wardrobe intervention.”

It takes literally every ounce of self-control Stiles has not to die laughing on the ground right there in the middle of Macy’s. He makes a choked off gurgle, and his face goes a little pink because Whitney looks over at him, face sour.

_ You invited Lydia Martin to your party? And she’s actually thinking about going!? _

His fingers kind of ache from texting so much this week, like they do whenever he breaks out his mom’s old Super Nintendo console. But this is definitely a pursuit worth injuries. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Whitney whisper into Amber’s ear, still side-eyeing Stiles. They walk a little further away, probably because Lydia has moved on to the bra racks. Stiles spends a few long seconds watching her flick through bright red lacy bras; there might be a little drool involved on his end. Maybe. Possibly.

_ I didn’t invite her. Erica must have done it. Shit, I don’t want freaking eighth graders at my party _ **_._ **

_ Hey, I resemble that remark! _

Frowning at his phone, Stiles finally heads toward the Macy’s exit, because he’s been spotted by the girls. Also, he really doesn’t need to have mall security called on him for being a creepy kid in the lingerie section. Not that that’s ever happened before or anything.

_ You and Scott don’t count. I don’t even want a bunch of people there. I hate parties. _

_ Of course you do. You are a fun sucker. Lydia Martin is a gift from heaven and you’d be LUCKY to have her come to your stupid birthday party. _

_ How do you even know that Lydia knows about it? _

_ I might have overheard her discussing it. _

_ Stalker. You are a stalker, and your dad is going to have to arrest you one day for it. _

Right about then is when the security monitors start going bat-shit crazy as Stiles walks out of Macy’s. He stumbles over his own feet and whips around, arms windmilling to keep his balance. A middle aged mall cop comes out of nowhere, palming his taser like Stiles is planning to start wailing on someone.

Stupid freaking sunglasses. He forgot to take them off. Stiles’ life, seriously.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for bad dad Raf and this is the chapter with the coerced masturbation.

“What do you want to do for your birthday?” Dad asks after flopping onto the couch beside Stiles. He hands him a popsicle.

Dad grilled steaks after marinating them overnight in a Jack Daniel’s concoction. Eating them with a root bear in a glass bottle had made Stiles feel all kinds of awesome. Hanging out together isn’t something they get to do a lot, because being a sheriff means your time belongs more to the town than to your own family. Stiles understands that completely, but he doesn’t feel guilty when Dad takes a day off just to spend it with him. The rest of the time, Stiles is trying to find ways to entertain himself without getting into trouble. That’s just not something so easily accomplished. It's nice then, really nice, when they get to chill like this.

Unwrapping the desert, Stiles shrugs. “The usual. Hang out with Scott at the arcade, spend the night. All the ‘summer blockbusters’,” Yes, Stiles does the air quotes, “suck so that’s out. Why?”

Dad bites at his own desert because, in Stiles’ opinion, he is a heathen. “I was thinking that maybe we could do a barbeque with the McCalls. I’m off that weekend.”

“Sounds good.” He swipes his tongue up the popsicle, eyes on the TV where _Taken 2_ is playing.

The phone rings, and Dad heaves himself up to pick up the cordless. “Stilinski.”

Propping his elbow on the back of the couch, Stiles twists around to watch his Dad. “Dad, who is it? Is it Scott? Is it the station?”

His dad rolls his eyes, ignoring Stiles. “Hey Brian.” He bites off the last of his dessert and tosses the wooden stick into the trash can as he heads upstairs. “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me. Jenkins did what?”

With a sigh, Stiles slumps back onto the couch. It was just Dad’s friend from the station calling to ‘fill him in’ about what’s happened today. Really, Dad and Brian are just gossiping, but that’s what old people do so whatever.

He sucks at his popsicle in order to get a strong burst of the cherry flavor, staring at the action on the TV screen. Liam Neeson is totally badass, but Stiles has seen this movie like five times already. Taking another lick at his dessert, Stiles suddenly looks at it with a grin. _Cherry flavored_. He laughs.

Then a thought—not even a real thought just a…hint of an inclination—hits him. He checks to make sure Dad is upstairs and, when the coast is clear, Stiles slowly pushes the popsicle all the way into his mouth. He’d already managed to devour about an inch of it so sticking the thing all the way in isn’t too much of a problem. He rubs at it with his tongue, making confused eyes to no one.

He doesn’t even really _know_ why he’s doing this. He pulls it out most of the way, sucking again, hollowing in cheeks as he sucks out more of the artificial flavoring. Stiles shrugs and jams the popsicle back into his mouth. He promptly chokes himself. It goes like this: the popsicle hits his uvula, Stiles gets a strong urge to vomit, his hand jerks and he bites down on the popsicle, he chokes _again_ on the stupid popsicle because it is freezing cold on his tongue and he’s managed to inhale it.

Coughing, Stiles swallows down the ice and wipes at the tears that have sprung to his eyes. Clearly, what Derek had done to that chick had been a Bad Idea. Derek was so damn lucky _she_ hadn’t bitten down like Stiles just did. Also? Blowjobs must take a hell of a lot more finesse than Stiles had previously thought.

With a begrudging look, he finishes off the popsicle. He seriously needs his best friend to come back into town, because Stiles is going crazy and doing really dumb stuff while left to his own devices. Stupid stuff like accidentally stealing sunglasses and randomly practicing fellatio on unsuspecting childhood desserts. At least his dad hadn’t grounded him for the first and will _never_ know about the second.

* * *

“So when I asked the other day ‘what’s new’ you didn’t think to tell me that your dad got Derek a freaking _car_?” Stiles hisses in Scott’s ear as he hugs him tightly.

Scott rocks them both from side to side before letting go. His face looks a lot less stoked than Stiles would have expected at being reunited. He shuts the door.

“It’s a car from our dad, Stiles.” Scott sighs and goes over to the coffee table where there is a half-eaten meat lover’s pizza. “Believe me, this isn’t exactly a _good thing_.”

Throwing his arms out at his sides, Stiles says, “But dude, it’s a car and now we can totally blackmail Derek into taking us to the arcade and GameStop and like a million other places. We’ve got a ride now, Scott!” He finishes off his rant by taking a huge bite out of a slice of pizza; it’s a little cold but still good.

Once Scott called a couple hours ago to let him know that they were back home, Stiles had given the family a decent window of time for getting settled back in. Unfortunately, Stiles hadn’t waited long enough to miss Rafael’s departure.

Speaking of which:

“No, Rafael, you _cannot_ just do something like this! I’m his mother, and you didn’t even consult me before you took him to get his license! And that would have been bad enough without you _buying him a car_!” Melissa’s voice is muffled from where it’s coming through the closed kitchen door.

Wincing, Scott gives him a significant look. Stiles bumps his shoulder in consolation before movement catches his eyes. Derek’s stomping down the stairs with a deep scowl on his face.

“As if you would have been able to provide him with a vehicle by yourself, Melissa.” Rafael’s voice is steel and dripping with disdain. “I’m doing you a _favor_. Now the boys don’t have to wait around for the bus. I’m even paying for the insurance since I know how bad your premium is thanks to your penchant for backing up into parked cars, fire hydrants, and just generally anything that’s not moving. You’re welcome.”

Derek scrubs a hand over his head and glares at the kitchen door. “God, I fucking hate him.”

“Derek, shut _up_! He’ll hear you.” Scott looks nervous because there is more yelling. He covers his ears and leans into Stiles. “They are divorced. Why is this crap still happening? Ugh.”

Petting at Scott’s head, Stiles asks “Want me to call Dad and have him do some intimidation?”

“Rafael has no respect for anyone not in the FBI, Stiles.”  Derek had taken to calling their father by his real name over the past year.

Apparently, being gifted a car for his sixteenth birthday isn’t enough to undo years of neglect, cutting remarks, and manipulation. It also doesn’t make Derek show any real respect to his father. Go figure.

The kitchen door flies open, and Melissa is suddenly there, face blotchy and pinched in anger. She blinks at Scott and Stiles for a minute before whipping her head over to Derek. “I need you to take Stiles home, Derek.” She gives him her wad of keys.

Rafael comes out of the kitchen behind her. “Take your car, Derek. It’s safer.” He glances at his ex-wife’s back. “Don’t forget to fill the tank up. Never let it get below quarter tank.” He tosses a different set of keys to Derek and smiles when he catches them easily.

Melissa deflates a little at the dig on her car. Stiles winces because it’s essentially true that the Accord has seen better days and might have an issue with the alternator.

“Fine, take the Camaro, Derek.” Melissa lets out a breath and straightens her back. “Just be careful, sweetie.”

Derek glares hard at Rafael and nods at his mom before heading to the front door. He doesn’t even acknowledge Stiles when he and Scott stand up.

“Scott, you stay here. We need to discuss something.” Rafael demands. Melissa shoots him a poisonous look; clearly, Derek got his mom’s angry face.

“Wha—“ Scott whines with puppy dog eyes at Melissa. “But I haven’t seen him for almost two weeks, Mom!”

Melissa shakes her head once, not looking at anyone. “No, you need to stay here, please.” Voice hard, she gives Derek a pointed look. “Take Stiles home now, Derek.”

Stiles takes all of this in with a ball of hate and confusion twisting in his gut. He remembers this. He remembers all the arguing and slamming doors. Melissa and Rafael have been divorced for close to five years now but every time they collide for visitation, it’s like going back in time. He just stands there, looking at an upset Scott and two angry adults. Derek grabs him by the forearm and drags him out of the house.

The ride home is silent aside from the Top 40 playing on the radio. Stiles can’t even appreciate the totally lush interior here, because he’s too busy taking surreptitious looks at Derek’s white knuckles and clenched jaw, wondering when they’re going to drive into a brick wall and burst into flames. It’s the longest eight minutes of Stiles’ life.

When Derek throws the car into park, Stiles reaches for the door handle. “Um, thanks for the ride.”

Derek locks the doors with an audible ‘click’ and turns to him, eyebrows low. “You owe me.”

“What?” Stiles cocks an eyebrow, flabbergasted. “I didn’t ask you to take me home in your dad’s back-handed gift.”

He seems to deflate just a little at that, but Derek is still staring him down. “Shut up about the car. You owe me for the other night. Fair is fair.”

“Seriously, Derek, you are being a cryptic as humanly possible here. I have no freaking idea what you are talking about."

“You’re a creeper, Stiles. You _watched_ me get a blow job.” He’s staring so hard at Stiles that Stiles feels kind of see-through.

“Um…” He goes red even though he’s not sure what the heck Derek’s angle here is. Perhaps he’d swept aside the possibility of death by Derek too quickly.

 Jutting his chin at Stiles, he says, “So you owe me. You got to see what it’s like when someone is staring you down while you’re trying to get off. So do it.”

 “What? You mean—“ Stiles gulps, twisting his fingers in his lap. “You want me to what? Jack off? Now? _Here_?” His heart is in his throat right now with embarrassment. When Derek just barely nods, he exclaims, “But I’m not even hard!”

 That’s not…exactly true. The adrenaline pumping into his system has him chubbing up a little. Swallowing against a dry throat, Stiles can feel heat start to twist at the bottom of his stomach. He’s getting turned on because he’s almost fifteen (he doesn’t feel stupid for saying that since there are only two weeks until his birthday) so he can get turned on if the wind blows by. He’s also feeling conflicted and confused. This, oddly, is something that has been happening way too often lately when Derek is involved in the equation.

 Flicking his gaze down to Stiles’ lap, Derek lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. He can’t be serious, right? The sun hasn’t finished setting yet so there isn’t even adequate darkness for Stiles to hide in. The Camaro is parked in his driveway, the sun is heavy and low on the horizon, and Derek is demanding Stiles jerks off _right there, right now_? It’s a joke. It has to be a joke. A fucked up joke.

 “Ha, ha.” He gulps air down and bounces a leg up and down. Stiles really wants to bolt from the car right now; he needs to get out of here before he does something really stupid.

 Derek twists in his seat, tilts his head against the window on his door and rakes his eyes over Stiles. “I’m serious, Stiles. Come on, do it. I’m fucking _pissed_ right now so just do it.” He practically growls.

 The edge in Derek’s voice sends a shiver through Stiles. And then he’s moving on autopilot—pushes back in his seat to unzip his jeans, pulls out his semi. Stiles can’t breathe properly because he’s a little freaked out by the situation and a lot turned on. So he does his best to keep processing oxygen as he strips his cock quickly, dry. He closes his eyes, trying to picture something that will help him get off quickly.

 “Eyes open, Stiles. Just like the other night.”

 Stiles wants to correct him, tell him that it wasn’t ‘the other night’—that it was almost two weeks ago. But it’s just semantics really. Instead, Stiles waits a beat before opening his eyes. He takes his palm and licks over it, face heating up more, before grabbing himself again. The spit helps his progress. Looking now, Stiles can’t avert his eyes from Derek’s darkening ones. His dick throbs against his fingers, and Stiles squeezes on the upstroke, runs his thumb over the head to smear the precome there.

 “You’re quiet,” Derek observes. His voice sounds rough, like he needs to clear his throat.

 Stiles bites back a moan and works his jaw because pleasure is running up and down his spine in rapid fire. His head nods on its own, mouth goes off. “Don’t wanna…”

 He knows he must look stupid with his eyebrows knit tight and his lips rolled in, body tense because his mind is going in one direction while his nerve receptors go the other. Stiles shouldn’t like having an audience; he shouldn’t be leaking precome all over his knuckles because someone— _Derek_ —is watching his every move. This feels so much different than it did when he and Scott dry humped, making out messily like the boys they are.

 Gripping the bottom of the steering wheel in his left hand, Derek says, “I can’t believe you’re so quiet. You’re _never_ quiet.” It almost sounds like Derek is awed by this.

 Stiles licks his lips. “Not quiet. Just— _shit_ …” He sounds so loud, breathing harshly and the sound of his damp hand sliding over his straining cock. Stiles arches his hips up into his fingers.

 “Weird. This is…” He slams his eyes shut, sucks in a lungful of air because he can feel his release building.

 Five pressure points suddenly appear on Stiles’ chin, and he looks again. Derek has leaned forward over the console, reached for Stiles’ jaw.

 “Eyes _open_.”

 Derek’s pupils are so wide Stiles can barely see any of the green-blue-brown-hazel that should be there. He’s not as angry or demanding this time. Stiles moans, unable to hold it back. The trapped air in the Camaro is humid now and filled with harsh breathing from two people.

 He goes “Mmm mmm mmm” like that girl who blew Derek.

 “Do it, Stiles. Come on.” Derek’s thumb sweeps back and forth gently over Stiles’ cheek, wandering.

 Leaning into Derek’s touch, Stiles pants out, “Yeah, okay” not even coherent, really.

 His hips are rolling up without an actual rhythm, just looking for his climax. The saliva on his palm has dried, but there’s enough precome to slick the way as he curls his fingers just a little tighter, on the edge of painful. Then, Derek’s thumb is on his bottom lip, slipping across his chapped and spit covered skin, pressing down, in. The first hint of salt against his tongue has Stiles opening his mouth a little, searching for more.

 His climax hits him too fast, and Stiles turns his head away from Derek’s hand. Digging his forehead into the dashboard, he groans while his dick continues to spurt into his hand. His bones feel liquefied but his brain is kicking back into gear quickly; he’s embarrassed again. And so damn confused. Stiles closes his eyes tightly and catches his breath. The solid feeling of the plastic under his heated skin is a good distraction.

 “Are you okay?” Derek asks in a voice that is soft, concerned and nothing like the demanding, unforgiving one he’d just used.

 Stiles nods. His groin is wet and getting a little cold now so he fixes everything and zips his jeans back up. That leaves him with a jizz covered hand and no tissues in sight. This is one of his favorite shirts too, damn.

 “Alright.” Stiles coughs until his throat feels right. “I’m cool.”

 He slumps into his seat now having survived most of the embarrassment that was clawing at his insides. Stiles stares at his messy hand blankly for a second and then brings it up to his mouth. It’s tangy, a little bitter. He licks his fingers and knuckles clean and sucks on the webbing between where his thumb and index finger meet. At least this way, none of his clothes get ruined. With the side of his palm still in his mouth, Stiles looks down at his lap, angles his butt around to make sure he didn’t get any jizz on the seat. Nope.

 “Can you not…?” Derek asks, voice small from the other side of the car.

 Stiles looks over at him and chases the very last of the mess on his pinky. “What?” And oh shit, Stiles realizes what he’s doing and how it probably looks. “Um…sorry?”

 A hysterical laughter bubbles out of Stiles then. Because, seriously? Derek is bothered by Stiles eating his own cum?

 “Dude, you’re so weak if that freaks you out.” He’s gotten rid of the evidence now though so he drops his hand. Stiles thinks there is probably more to it than just being freaked out, but thinking about it makes his insides knot up.

 Derek’s nostrils flare, and he glowers a bit. “Shut up, Stiles.” He shifts in his seat and turns back to the steering column, reaching for the keys hanging from the ignition. “Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

 “You’re kidding, right? Why would I tell anyone I jerked it in your car? This car isn’t even really all that great.” Lies. It’s an awesome car—a sexy car that no sixteen year-old should have. Case in point, the fact that Derek managed to coerce Stiles into a jerk off session _while sitting in this damn car._

 “Sure.” Giving him a sideways look, Derek hits the trunk release button on the key fob. “Don’t forget your bike.”

 Stiles unlocks his door and opens it halfway. Sunlight just barely skirts the tree line now but the world still seems so bright in comparison to the compact, tinted space inside the Camaro; he blinks. Looking back at Derek, Stiles asks, “Are you going to keep the car?”

 “Unless Mom makes Rafael take it back, yeah. If he wants to waste a ton of money on me, then I’m not saying ‘no.’ But I’m not _thanking_ him for it because I know what this is about.”

 Stiles twists back towards Derek at the anger that has slipped back into his words. “You think he’s got an ulterior motive?”

 Derek gives him a withering look. “ _Yes_. He’s probably trying to get on my good side and try and get me to agree to move back in with him. I made varsity last year as a freshman, Stiles. He wants me living with him so he can parade me around to his stupid FBI buddies and talk about how I get my talent from him.” He takes a deep breath. “He’s trying to convince Scott to move in with him right now. It’s another way he’s hoping to get me to say ‘yes.’”

 “No way! You guys can’t move in with that asshole! What about your mom? What about school and your friends?” Stiles wants to ask _“What about me?”_ but he doesn’t do it.

 “No shit, Stiles. There’s no way I’m moving, and Scott isn’t going to either. Mom just has to let Rafael ask because I got the option but Scott never did when they divorced. Rafael is going back home empty handed, and I’m still going to have this fucking car.”

 Stiles doesn’t know what to say, so he just sits there in silence with Derek, breathing stale air tinged with the scent of sweat and his own release. This has been a really messed up night.

 “I better get back home.” Derek is resigned as he puts the car into drive and looks over at Stiles. “Thanks for…everything.”

 “No problem.” It isn’t what Stiles really wants to say, but he doesn’t even know what he wants to say to Derek right now. Between jerking off in front of him and listening to the screwed up family drama Derek has going on, Stiles is confused.

 He’s always confused when it comes to Derek now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wondering about Scott and Stiles? I omitted the original scene a year ago and posted it as a one shot. Here it is (and i will make it part of the series): https://archiveofourown.org/works/11735328


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Early chapter bc I called out of work due to The Crud. *blows nose*
> 
> 2\. Lmao at the way this fic has seriously dated itself. I wrote this before McDonald's started serving breakfast 24 hours. 
> 
> 3\. Yay laser tag!

“ _ Stiles _ .” Someone calling his name wakes him up in the middle of the night. It’s followed by a shift on his mattress and clammy fingers shaking at his shoulders. “Stiles.”

Groaning, he sits up and wipes at his eyes, “Dude, what time is it?”

Scott is sitting next to him in the dark, a pale yellow casts across his features from the night light Stiles still keeps plugged into the wall by his door. They crawl into each other’s rooms all the time; it’s something they perfected the summer between fourth and fifth grade out of necessity. Even well-meaning rules can’t keep them apart.

“I don’t know. Late.” Scott pulls the blankets away after kicking his shoes off,  and he slides in next to Stiles. His socked feet rub against Stiles’ calves.

“So,” Stiles slumps back down, shoulder to shoulder with Scott. “Derek told me about your dad.”

He suppresses the flash memory of new car smell and the feeling of his own hand on his cock while demanding eyes trail over him. Stiles tugs the sheet up higher and rolls onto his side, tucking his forehead against the top of Scott’s bicep. He focuses on the scent of clean sweat and laundry detergent. Scott catches his hand between them, gripping it tight in his own palm but doesn’t look over.

“I’m not moving. Screw him.” Scott’s nails dig into the thin skin on the back of Stiles’ hand. “That ship sailed a long time ago. How could he think I’d be willing to leave mom and Derek? Screw that.  _ Fuck that _ .”

Stiles can’t help the grin that spreads across his face; he tries to smother it against Scott’s tee. “You belong here, dude. It’s his fault he screwed up so bad and lost everything. He can’t just try to dazzle you guys into wanting to be with him.”

“I know. I just wish he’d _ get that, _ but he doesn’t. This has been like the worst two weeks ever, Stiles. He tried to act like there wasn’t anything wrong between us, but whenever Derek got mouthy with him, he went off, you know?

“And then he turns around and gets that stupid car for Derek, promises to pay for the insurance. Mom feels like crap because Dad’s being all high and mighty about it like she had  _ asked _ for the help. Which,  _ no _ . Derek hadn’t even asked for a car or even his license yet. I think he was planning to get a job and save up or something. But like having the Camaro is going to make things a lot easier for Mom and everything.” Scott pushes out a harsh breath.

“Derek can pick us up for school and can go run errands and stuff so Mom won’t have to do everything herself. She’s so stressed sometimes. 

“Why does this have to happen? Why can’t something good happen and it just be a good thing—not a double-edged thing that ends up hurting us just as much as helping? This sucks. I don’t want to be grateful to him, Stiles.”

By the end of Scott’s rant, his voice is tight with emotion. Stiles uses his free hand to pull him over so they are face to face and tangles their legs together as he grips the fabric over Scott’s waist.

“Your dad doesn’t deserve any of you and he knows it.” Stiles wishes there were enough light so Scott could see him clearly and know just how fiercely Stiles believes this. “I think Derek should keep the car if your mom lets him and then you guys should just freakin’ ignore your dad. Take what the bastard will give you but don’t let him know it helps.” Stiles thinks back on what Derek had said earlier, agreeing with him.

“Rafael can’t make either of you move, Scott. Your mom has full custody and the visits only happen because she  _ lets _ it. He gave up custody of you, Scott. He fucked up and there’s nothing he can do now to change that. Your mom is a badass and Rafael is lucky she even lets him see you once a year, much less that she let him ask if you wanted to move in. The car thing was just a last-ditch effort to buy you and Derek.”

Scott’s nodding his head against Stiles’ pillow, breath hitching a little. “I know. I was just scared. I’m  _ pissed _ at him, Stiles.  _ So pissed _ .” He launches himself at Stiles and hooks his arm around Stiles’ neck.

Stiles jerks at Scott’s word choice but doesn’t stop Scott breathing hot and damp against the hollow of his neck. He lets go of Scott’s shirt and rubs circles on the middle of his back. He doesn’t know what to say or do so he’ll just lie there and  _ be there _ .

* * *

“Scott, c’mon, man.” Stiles is woken up again by a McCall.

Back pressed against the wall, Stiles blinks blearily at Derek who is crouched by the bed. His hair is soft and un-gelled, and Derek is in a Henley so it must be at least mid-morning if Derek isn’t dressed in one of his ratty old Under Armour shirts for a run. Stiles stares at the crease between Derek’s eyebrows, faintly aware of the warm brush of a hand on his where it rests against Scott’s lower back. Scott’s forehead scrunches down in a distorted mirror image of his brother’s as he tries to fight waking up.

Stiles croaks out, “Scott, Derek’s here.” He skitters a glance at his best friend’s face before bouncing back to Derek who is now looking at him over Scott’s head.

“No.” Rolling forward, Scott presses his face into the pillow. “Go away, Derek. M’sleeping.”

Derek stands up and then there are no more blankets or sheets covering them. Scott and Stiles both yell.

“Get up, Scott. Mom wants you home.” He balls up the covers and throws them to the other side of the room.

“Hate you so much,” Scott grumbles but sluggishly pulls away from Stiles.

“Why am I being punished? I’m the innocent bystander in this.” Stiles turns onto his stomach quickly and tucks his arms under his chest, glaring sideways at Derek. “Gimme my blankets back.”

“Get them yourself.” Derek crosses his arms.

Scott mumbles about needing to pee and heads towards the hallway. Stiles digs his face into the pillow, trying to suffocate the blush that’s fighting to bloom across his face. He’s got morning wood and can’t seem to stop replaying snatches of last night. The hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck prickle, and it feels like Derek is looking at him. Tilting his head to the side again because he, unfortunately, needs fresh oxygen, he catches the way Derek is just standing there, staring at the strip of skin exposed between his boxers and t-shirt.

“Give me my blankets, Derek,” Stiles whines because he’s sleepy and cold.

Derek grumbles but picks up the tangle of blankets and spreads them haphazardly over Stiles. “There. God, you’re lazy.”

Sitting up, Stiles wraps the blankets around his head and shoulders, twisting them in his lap. He sticks his tongue out at Derek. “But you still did what I told you to.”

The flush that hits Derek’s cheeks makes one start up in Stiles’ own.

“Can we get breakfast first?” Scott asks when he comes back into the room and sits down on the bed to pull his shoes on.

“Yeah, if you’re paying.” Derek scoffs and backs out of the way of Scott’s legs when he kicks them out.

Stiles pulls Scott backwards against his chest in a hug. “We got Eggos downstairs. You can have some if you make me one.” He digs his chin into Scott’s back, looking at Derek.

Derek narrows his eyes slightly at Stiles but looks back at Scott. “Can you please untangle yourself from the octopus and _ let’s go _ ?”

With matching grins, Scott and Stiles wrap their arms around each other. Scott’s hands snake under the blankets and fist against Stiles’ sides as Stiles slides his legs around Scott’s waist. For the sake of annoying Derek, they both ignore the fact that Stiles is still kind of hard, pressing against the back of Scott’s hip.

“I’m hungry too.” Stiles’ mouth is still stretched in a taunting smile. “Not letting go unless you promise me food—us food.” He shakes his head at Derek’s glare, thrilled at the response.

“Come on Derek, let’s get food! We’re hungry.” Scott intones.

“ _ Feed us _ !”

Derek wipes a hand over his face and sighs loudly, “ _ Fine _ . Just come on.”

Scott whoops in triumph and bounces off the bed. He pulls Stiles up before shoving a wrinkled pair of jeans from the floor into Stiles’ chest. “I want a McMuffin. Hurry up and get dressed, dude.”

McDonald’s isn’t serving breakfast anymore, because it’s twelve thirty in the afternoon. Scott is a little mopey for a few minutes before deciding to order a ten piece chicken nugget meal. Derek just gets a parfait because he’s a lame loser who actually worries about calories and fat content now. Plus, he makes a point of describing the four egg omelet Melissa made him this morning when breakfast is actually meant to be served, Scott. Stiles orders a Big Mac combo with extra cheese. Derek pays for everything like he should.

* * *

Melissa rented the arcade’s laser tag arena for Derek’s birthday party, and it’s  _ epic _ . Scott and Stiles end up hanging out at the arcade most weekends, playing old school pinball and joining a bunch of other kids in a ragtag game of laser tag. But this time—for the first time—they get to make actual teams and play to their heart’s content. Derek is the captain of the Wolves while Boyd is the captain of the Sharks. Sure, the sophomores all get chosen before Scott and Stiles but it isn’t that big of a deal. Besides, Boyd takes Scott so the brothers have a reason to be competitive which also gives Stiles a reason.

It’s the third game and the Wolves and Sharks are tied with only three kids left on Boyd’s team. Stiles and Derek are all that’s left pulling for the Wolves.

“Erica, Adam, and I think Ethan or Aiden—I don’t know—one of those twins are left.” Stiles whispers after having just rushed out of the left and ducked down behind an L-shaped divider where he spotted Derek. “Adam just got Kendra.”

“Erica is over by the netting and Aiden is flanking her right. I took out Ethan like five minutes ago.” Derek peeks above the metal. “Adam is their sniper now that Christy is out.”

“Okay, so you got a game plan or is it every man for himself, o captain, my captain.” He nudges Derek in the arm with the butt of his gun.

“I’ll go for Adam to the left like I’m trying to take the weak spot and you sneak around the back and hit Erica. As long as I don’t get hit, Aiden should probably try gunning for me and then you or I will take him out.”

“Yeah, I’m game although ‘probably’ isn’t exactly a reassuring word choice there, Derek.” Stiles looks at his team captain. “You ready?”

It’s really dark in the laser tag arena, lit with yellow and green neon tubes spaced erratically around the room. The dividers and alcoves all have a black light bulb screwed in under metal webbing to make the place seem just a little dystopian and futuristic at the same time. The netting that Erica is using as a shield is splashed with yellow paint that glows fluorescent in the lighting. Stiles can barely make out the tiny little blue orb on Erica’s chest plate.

Derek sticks his fist out for Stiles to bump. “Let’s go.” His smile flashes brightly.

Stiles sits there for a few seconds and watches Derek streak out, shooting his gun with no real target in mind—just trying to get Adam’s attention. When Stiles can see the end of Adam’s gun glow blue, he sprints towards the side of the arena and follows it towards the back.

“Damn it, Derek!” Stiles hears Adam cussing and grins.

That leaves just Erica and the twin. He spots Erica first, able to see the tracker on her back. Unfortunately, the breast plates only register a hit if the player gets shot on the front. Aiden is sideways to Erica with his gun raised, trying to track Derek somewhere to Stiles’ right. Stiles stands, moving to hide halfway behind a metal column and holds his breath as Aiden keeps turning, inch by inch, towards him.

With his gun poised, Stiles shouts out, “Gotcha!” just as Aiden twists another two inches to his right. Aiden’s chest plate lights up red—the Wolves’ color—for five seconds before it starts flashing red like a strobe after Stiles has hit him.

Aiden groans before making his way towards the exit. Erica is all that stands between them and victory.

She disappears totally and Stiles starts looking back and forth for her blue tracker. He contemplates staying where he is but decides it would be better to team back up with Derek. Erica has been the last one standing on her team each game.

“Where the hell did she go?” Derek whispers.

They are facing each other to keep their vulnerable spots hidden in order to buy a minute or two to regroup. Stiles can smell the sweat on Derek’s skin, can feel the heave of his chest as their breastplates knock against each other every few beats.

“I don’t know. She was right there by the net when I got Aiden but then she went black.” He scans the area behind Derek’s back, trying to ignore the heat running along his skin. “We need to do a sweep of the area and like corner her. Start here and make our way back towards the exit—go diagonally.”

The whites of Derek’s eyes glow with an eerie bluish tint so close to Stiles. He nods in agreement and they start carefully searching behind each hideout. Dubstep is blaring from the speakers, sounding louder now that the arena only has three people inside; the deep bass echoes hollowly inside Stiles’ chest like a double tempo to his heart and makes his adrenaline pulse a little faster because they are so  _ close _ to winning.

Of course, that’s exactly when Erica pops up out of no-freaking-where with a smirk on her face. Stiles is barely able to register that her gun is glowing blue before Derek is shoving him out of the way, cussing next to him. He stumbles but is able to jerk his own gun up at the same moment Erica swings to him after taking down Derek. Their guns go off at the same time.

“What?!” Erica screeches, throwing her arms out at the side and stalking towards Stiles. “I hit you!” Her chest is blinking red.

Stiles looks down at his own breastplate but it’s got a steady red glow going on. “Dude!” he fist pumps the air, jumping up and down. “I won! _ I beat you down, girl! _ ” Disbelief and delight converge to make him laugh loudly.

Erica grabs the edges of his breastplate and shakes him bodily with it. “How the hell did you do that? It must be a computer glitch or something. I totally hit you first! It’s not fair!”

Derek is there then, pulling at Erica’s hands and gently pushing her back. “Don’t get mad just because you got schooled by an eighth grader, Erica. You were the last one on your team every time so chill out.” When she settles back on her heels, glaring at both him and Stiles, Derek cracks a grin. “Looks like my team wins though.”

“Yeah!” Stiles shimmies a little, grinning when Erica just flounces away in a huff. He turns to Derek. “Dude, we won. We won the whole thing!”

They beam at each other for a few seconds before Derek hooks an arm around Stiles’ neck, pulling him in close as they head towards the exit.

“Good job, Stiles.” Derek’s forehead is pressing against Stiles’ temple, voice rough and loud in his ear.

Shivers run up and down Stiles’ arms when Derek’s arm falls down to circle around his waist. He leans into Derek’s side a little more than necessary while they walk; his elbow is tucked along Derek’s ribs but he itches to wrap his arm around Derek’s waist too. They’re at the door then and it’s too late to touch him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Underage sexting and semi-public masturbation.

“I think I want to cut my hair.” Stiles confides over a bowl of mac’n’cheese.

Scott’s eyes bug out and he’s instantly shaking his head. “No way, dude. Don’t, man!”

“Jeeze, thanks for your vote of confidence, Scott.” Rubbing a hand over his head, he sighs. “I need like a change and my hair’s been like this forever. Besides, I’ll probably look older with short hair. And we are going to high school. Changes are a comin’ and all that, right?”

“This is that Lydia thing, isn’t it? Because she said long hair is like immature or whatever you want to cut yours off. Stiles, you don’t _really_ want to do that, do you? I mean, like if you didn’t know Lydia’s opinion on it you wouldn’t even think about cutting your hair, right?” Scott stabs at his own snack. Stiles regrets telling him everything he overheard Lydia and her friends talking about.

“I can want a change and it not be because of what Lydia thinks.” He’s defensive because it seems that Scott’s been kind of against the Lydia Plan lately. “And okay yeah, she said short hair is better or something but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to do it _anyway_. You’ve got a pair of clippers, right?”

Coughing, Scott gasps, “You want to do it yourself! Stiles, you’re crazy!”

 “No, I want you to do it. I wouldn’t be able to get the back of my head right.” He bumps his shoulder against Scott’s. “Come on, man, do me a solid here.”

 “I love you, but I’m not shaving your head. I’m against this because you’re doing it for the wrong reasons. I’d also probably end up like cutting off one of your moles or something.” Scott grimaces.

 Stiles rolls his eyes and mumbles, “it’s not like I don’t have a _million_ of them.” He flinches when Scott pinches his side. “Ow! What? They’re annoying and dumb. Jackson calls them sunspots like I’m an eighty year-old woman and they’re like _all over the place_.” He glares at his best friend who just scoffs. “Please do it, Scott?”

 Scott gives him the side-eye but heaves a sigh. “ _Fine_.”

 “Awesome! Come on.” Stiles shoves the rest of his mac’n’cheese into his mouth and chews loudly as he gets up off Scott’s floor. “Where is it?”

 Scott slowly climbs up, still clutching his bowl of noodles. “Now? You want to do this now?”

 “Yes, now! There’s no time like the present!” He drags his best friend towards the door. “Come on man, you said you’d do it.”

 “But—why? Fine, they’re in the main bathroom.” Scott trudges behind Stiles, eating the remnants of his mac'n'cheese. “They’re under the sink, I think.”

 Stiles squats down and rummages through the bottom cabinet until he finds the clippers behind a pack of toilet paper. Standing back up, he quickly plugs them into the outlet by the sink. And then he just stands there staring at the reflection in the mirror. Scott is behind him, eyebrows raised, and munching.

 “You sure you want to do this?” asking, Scott sets his bowl down on the counter and takes the clippers from Stiles’ lax grip. When Stiles nods his head, Scott switches the clippers on. “Okay,” he sucks in a breath of air and moves to take his first swipe. “Alright.” He swallows. “Yup.”

 “What?” Stiles asks Scott’s reflection.

 “I can’t do this. I’m going to screw it up and cut you.” Scott turns the clippers back off and quickly sets them on the counter as if they are suddenly on fire. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 “Oh my God, you’re not going to hurt me. Just _do it_ , Scott.” Stiles picks the clippers up and tries to push them back into Scott’s hand but Scott’s a sneaky bastard and gets away.

 “What are you doing?” Derek asks from where he’s leaning against the doorframe with a cocked eyebrow.

 Stiles flails a little and almost knocks the empty bowl off the counter. He recovers quickly enough, catches the tick in the corner of Derek’s mouth—it might be amusement but, then again, it could easily be annoyance. It’s difficult to understand Derek sometimes (all the time).

 “I’m trying to get your brother to follow through on a promise he made.” Stiles directs his words at Scott even though Scott just rolls his eyes.

 “I didn’t _promise_. I said I’d do it but then I said I wouldn’t so I won’t.”

 “Scott, your logic astounds me sometimes,” Derek comments. He looks at the clippers and back at Stiles. “Do you want to shave your head?”

 “Uh, duh.” Stiles shakes the clippers in his hands because it’s kind of obvious.

 Derek ignores Stiles’ remark. “I’ll do it,” he smirks at Scott “if you’re too chicken to do it.”

 Scott puts his head in his hands, shaking his head back and forth. “Ugh. Don’t enable him. He’s making bad decisions.”

 Elbowing past his brother, Derek snatches the clippers out of Stiles’ hand. “Hey, everyone is allowed to make mistakes every now and then. Besides, if it looks bad, he can just grow it back out, Scott.” He turns the clippers on while staring Scott down. “If you’re not going to help, leave.”

 Stiles swallows, suddenly feeling uncertain.

 “Whatever,” is Scott’s retort before he does indeed abandon Stiles to his fate. He’s pulling the bathroom door shut but stops and pushes back in for a moment. “Don’t cut his throat with that thing, Derek. I’ll tell mom if you kill him.”

“ _Go_.”

 Derek pushes his little brother out of the room and shuts the door even as Scott is snarking, “I’m _going_.”

 He twists the lock on the door so Scott won’t be able to barge in and try to talk Stiles out of his haircut—or possibly to keep Stiles in the bathroom? Stiles licks his bottom lip out of nervousness.

 “So you don’t actually plan on killing me, right? Because besides the whole dad being a sheriff thing, I gotta tell you it’s like _impossible_ to fully get rid of blood stains. And there’s like an eighty percent chance Scott really would nark on you for offing me.”

 “I’m not making any promises.” Derek reaches out and smooths Stiles’ hair backwards, looking at him in the mirror. “You ready?”

 “Um, yeah?” He flinches when the clippers’ blade comes against his scalp, cutting off the shaggy hair there. “No hesitation, well that’s good I guess.”

 Derek doesn’t say anything, just keeps making passes over the top of Stiles’ head.

 “So Lydia didn’t come to your party.”

 The clippers hesitate just a second before Derek says, “I made Erica un-invite her and anyone else she asked. You’re the only eighth grader I was okay with inviting.”

 “Scott was there.” He huffs and corrects Derek. “We’re Freshmen, technically, by the way.” He is, of course, also ignored.

 Stiles can’t imagine a world in which he’d have the balls to know Lydia Martin was considering coming to his birthday party and then un-invite her. It is just unimaginable, okay? As far as Stiles knows, Lydia is able to do whatever she wants, whenever she wants because everyone worships her. Derek just doesn’t get it for some reason. And…and the fact that Derek would have absolutely no problem not letting Lydia come to her party but he’s okay with Stiles going? Weird. Derek is so, so very weird.

 “Scott is my brother.” He tilts Stiles’ head to the left in order to get a better angle as he trims the hair around Stiles’ ear. “You need to get over your thing for Lydia. She’s a waste of your time because she doesn’t even know you exist.”

 “Hey!” Stiles ducks out from Derek’s reach and glares at him. “What makes you so sure? She knows who I am. I’m just…she’s—I’ve got a _plan_ , Derek. I’m making myself more accessible and available for her.”

 Derek just gives him a level stare. They are facing each other now. He shuts off the clippers.

 “I’m leaving you alone to your delusional thoughts and you can figure out how to finish cutting off your hair.” He sets the clippers down and turns to leave, only stopping when Stiles grabs him by the arm.

 “I’ve had a crush on Lydia since I was in third grade, Derek. She’s beautiful and amazing and so smart. What’s everyone’s problem with me wanting to be with her?”

 The glare Derek gives Stiles is enough to make him drop his grip on Derek’s arm and take a half step backwards.

 “She’s a stuck up bitch who treats you like you don’t exist even though you’ve been yammering on about her since you were eight. I don’t know her and I can’t stand her. So forget about her, Stiles.”

 It’s like a punch to the gut to have anyone other than Scott say negative things about Lydia. He suddenly feels stupid and small, angry.

 “Shut up, Derek. You don’t get to tell me who I should and shouldn’t like. It’s not like you’d even understand what it’s like to want someone you can’t have because you’re a star athlete and everyone wants you. I mean, you’ve already had sex! So just…shut up.”

 Stiles slumps against the counter and glares at the linoleum floor, face hot. The silence in the bathroom is deafening as Derek just stands there for a few beats.

 “Turn around.” Derek grits out.

 When Stiles finally looks up at him, Derek is kind of pissed looking with the eyebrows and everything. He grabs Stiles by the shoulders and forcibly turns him around to face the mirror. Stiles flinches but the clippers come back on and Derek starts where he’d just left off after using a little too much force to make Stiles tilt his head down.

The clippers scrape up the back of his head. Stiles has an overwhelming urge to apologize for his outburst but he refuses to open his mouth. Derek is the one who started harshing him in the first place. Besides, Stiles hadn’t even said anything untrue or offensive to Derek anyway so this guilt makes absolutely no sense. But the warm pressure of Derek’s palm against the side of his neck feels like an admonishment or something despite the fact that it’s a gentle thing.

 “Done.” Derek shuts the clippers off for the final time and sets them down.

 He brushes stray hairs off the back of Stiles’ neck and shoulders, not meeting his gaze in the mirror before stepping back. The air hitting Stiles head feels extra cool without the buffer of floppy hair he’s had for the past couple of years; he feels exposed.

 Turning around, Stiles nods and mumbles, “thanks. Um, how does it look?”

 Derek doesn’t seem to want to answer him but he finally says, “fine. You look good—older.” And with that, he unlocks the bathroom door and leaves.

 “Dude, you look so different!” Scott jumps up off his bed and launches himself at Stiles, rubbing his hands all over the buzz cut. “No way am I cutting my hair too but this looks good. I guess I was wrong.”

 Ducking out of Scott’s hands, Stiles shrugs. “I guess. Whatever, can we just go back to playing Call of Duty?” He sits down heavily and picks up the controller to Scott’s XBOX.

 Scott sits next to him, nudging him. “Are you okay?”

 “Yeah,” Stiles sighs. “Your brother is a jerk.”

 “Tell me something I don’t know.”

 Stiles feels itchy from the stray hairs still stuck against his sweaty neck and under his t-shirt collar. His head seems lighter and colder. Overall, Stiles feels exposed now, raw. He’s never felt so unsettled after a stupid haircut and this is just so stupid. Derek is stupid. Ugh.

* * *

He’s slurping down some Pepsi when Stiles decides _screw it_ because he’s bored and Dad’s made sure anything interesting is hidden away or locked in a password protected file on his computer. So Stiles digs out his cell phone and types a message while waiting for Dad to come back so they can finish their lunch.

  _Even though you’re an ass, I forgive you._

_God you’re magnanimous. I haven’t been able to sleep from worry that you hated me. Thank you._

  _You’re even more of a sarcastic jerk in text messages. Good thing I’m cool with that. I don’t even know how you have friends._

  _I’m actually a really sweet, nice person. You just bring out the worst in me._

  _Lies. I make your life a bajillion times better just by EXISTING. You can’t get enough of me. Don’t front—we’ve been through this. Besides, we both know you really aren’t sweet or nice. You’re a control freak who thinks he knows everything._

  _I do know everything. Obviously. You’d be better off if you just listened to me all the time._

  _Yeah, sure let me just put that on my to do list: Let Derek boss me around._

  _Sounds good to me._

  _You’re such a freak. Getting off to telling people what to do._

  _Wouldn’t you like to know._

  _I already know._

 Stiles’ cheeks feel warm and his palms are suddenly sweaty as he stares down at the text that is waiting to be sent. There’s an alarm bell in the back of his mind going off, telling him that he’s doing something wrong and weird and just…he shouldn’t send that. He should redirect the conversation because his stomach is twisting in knots again, pulse fast despite the fact that he’s just sitting in his dad’s office.

 The door squeaks open as Dad comes back in, trailing a laugh over his shoulder at something one of his deputies said. Stiles jerks in his seat and his fingers mash on the buttons before he snaps his phone closed like he’s going to get caught watching porn or something. Dad settles back at his desk and pulls over his half-eaten chicken sandwich.

 “You okay, Stiles?” Dad covers his mouth as he asks because he’s got all the manners that Stiles hasn’t bothered learning.

 “What? Yeah, Dad. I’m good. Cool. Peachy.” He moves around in his seat, hands bracing on the armrests as he tries to remember what casual looks like. “Just talking to Derek.” He rolls his eyes.

 Dad nods and advises, “Don’t bother him too much Stiles. I know he’s Scott’s brother and all but he’s got a lot on his plate.”

 The phone in Stiles’ hand buzzes with a new text and it takes everything he has not to flinch.

 “I know but we’re kinda friends?” When Dad just raises his eyebrows, disbelieving, Stiles says, “We’re friends. Derek and I can be friends, Dad. It’s not that weird.”

 “No, it wouldn’t be weird for you and Derek to be friends but the fact that it’s _you and Derek_ , I find it a little difficult to believe. Every time I’ve spent more than a half hour around the two of you, I have to play referee to your arguing and insults. You’re worse than brothers.”

 “Oh God, Dad. Derek is so not like a brother to me. _Gross_.” His nose wrinkles in disgust at the mere idea of Derek being related to him. “And Derek and I don’t argue so much as banter. There’s a difference, Dad. He’s one of the few people who understand the intricacies of my sarcasm and wit, sadly. Is Derek a jerk most of the time? Yes. But does that mean we can’t be friends? No. I’m kind of a jerk sometimes too. It works.”

 Dad crumples up the wrapper his sandwich came in and tosses it in the trash as he says, “If you say so, Stiles. I guess this is better than you guys trying to kill each other. It’ll make the drive to Crescent Beach a lot easier.”

 Stiles chokes on the soda he’d just been swallowing down. Pounding at his chest, he bug-eyes at Dad. “What? We’re going to be beach with Scott’s family?”

 Dad smiles with his whole face, eyes crinkling at the sides. “Yeah, Melissa got the weekend off between yours and Scott’s birthday so we can all drive down and barbecue on the beach. Sound good?”

 “Does it sound good— _yes_! Dad, that’s so awesome! We haven’t been to the beach in forever. Are we staying the night? Can Scott and I have a room together?” Stiles is almost vibrating with excitement over the prospect of getting to go to the beach with his best friend.

 “We’re going to stay that Friday and Saturday.” Dad nods. “You, Scott, and Derek are going to room together.”

 Stiles yells in excitement but then goes stock still. “Please tell me you and Melissa aren’t going to _share a room_ , Dad. That’s just…no.” He shivers in disgust at the picture trying to form in his mind.

 “ _No_ , Stiles. Melissa will have her own room. That’s not happening, son. We are just friends whose sons are best friends.” He sounds resigned and Stiles feels bad for asking.

 “Okay.” He speaks a little quieter but gives his dad a hard look. “You don’t _want_ anything to happen between you guys, do you?” He really doesn’t want an answer but it’s his dad and he wants his dad to be happy.

 It’s not like Scott and Stiles hadn’t ever discussed how it would be awesome to actually be legal brothers if his mom and Stiles’ dad married. But, there’s an ache in Stiles’ heart that he knows will crack a little open, bleed a little in betrayal if Dad were to fall in love with someone who isn’t Mom. Logically, Stiles knows it’s not fair to his dad to feel that way but that doesn’t keep it from being true. Maybe, Stiles will get over it one day—if Dad ever does start looking like he wants to date or whatever.

Running a hand over his face, Dad shakes his head. “No, Stiles. Melissa is a very good friend but that’s it.” His eyebrows knit as he looks at his son. “I still love your mother and I will always love her.”

The pained tightness in Dad’s face makes Stiles feel terrible for asking.

“You can…” Stiles trails off sitting forward in his seat a little before staring hard at the desk surface. “You can love Mom and still fall in love with someone else, Dad. It’s…okay if that happens. I won’t be mad or anything.” It's one of those things he’s heard on some therapist talk radio thing last year. Even though Stiles doesn't want to think about it, he really doesn't want to get in the way of his dad’s happiness.

There’s silence between them for a long moment.

“Come here.” Dad stands up and beckons Stiles over with his hands.

Wet heat gathers at the corners of Stiles eyes before he’s even all the way out of his chair. Dad pulls him into a tight hug. Stiles holds on to the back of his dad’s uniform and tucks his head against his solid shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of aftershave and gun oil. He’s able to blink the tears back and take a few deep breaths.

“I love you, Son. I’m so proud of the man you’re becoming.” With a final squeeze, Dad releases him and claps him on the back. “You’re a good man.”

“I love you too, Dad.” Stiles doesn’t bother trying to hide the sappy smile on his face or the blush that’s coloring his cheeks from the compliment. “I get it honest.”

Dad rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright. Settle down and finish your food.”

When Dad finally kicks him out of the station and sends him on his way home, Stiles checks his phone.

_Seemed to get you off too._

Stiles sits down hard on the seat of his bike and folds his arms on the handlebars, dropping his head there. _Oh my God_ , he’d sent that text by accident. Stiles should have never typed it out. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Thank all things good in the world that he hadn’t read Derek’s text in the station. As it was, Stiles’ face was beet red and his heart rate had jumped even as his dick started to get interested.

 _What the hell is this?_ What’s—Stiles straightens up and angrily jabs at his phone to send a new text.

_I thought we weren’t TALKING about that. OMG, Derek._

Stiles stares down at his phone, willing Derek to text back immediately. When five minutes pass, he huffs and starts peddling home. At a red light on Second Street, he checks his phone.

_If you don’t want to talk about it, then don’t. You brought it up. Also, you didn’t deny it. Haha_

_Sorry, but I’m fourteen. Everything gets me turned on. Don’t think you’re so special for getting me to jerk off._

_I thought you didn’t want to talk about it._

_-_- I don’t but I also can’t let you think you’ve got something over me._

_Damn you’re easy, Stiles. Getting turned on by anything and then getting off when I’m watching?_

Face burning, Stiles looks around him frantically. The street is mostly empty of pedestrians; there’s hardly any traffic. He quickly walks his bike to an alley and slams his back against the brick wall, trying to regroup. His dick is fully hard now and there’s absolutely no way he could ride home with a hard-on. He presses the palm of his hand to the bulge in his jeans trying to get it to go down.

He groans instead because he suddenly hears Derek’s voice in his head: “ _eyes open, Stiles_ .” Not making the conscious decision, he imagines Derek’s voice, deep and thick like it had been back in the Camaro, shaping the words in Derek’s text. He shouldn’t be reacting like this to a stupid text message. Derek’s just being an ass and making fun of him. But, Stiles _is_ just a fourteen year-old and he really does get turned on easily, damn it. With the hand not currently squeezing at his dick, Stiles pecks out a response to Derek.

_Like you still got off when I watched you get blown? THAT didn’t seem to stop you from blowing your load. I think you liked it. Liked me watching and liked watching me._

Hitting send before he can change his mind, he calls up the memory of that night a few weeks ago when he’d accidentally caught some girl going down on Derek. Stiles can feel the blob of precome that leaks out against the boxers he’s wearing. This is really, really bad timing and he shouldn’t do this.

He quickly unfastens the button on his jeans and eases his zipper down half way just enough that he can get his hand down his shorts and wrap his fingers around his throbbing dick, pumps it a couple times. The waves of euphoria that wash down his spine and swirl in his gut make it difficult to focus on the next text message Derek sends him. It makes him bite back a moan of frustration.

_You came so fast in my car, Stiles, and then you fucking ate your come like it was ice cream running down your fingers._

That’s not really a response Stiles had expected. It wasn’t a confirmation or a denial of Derek’s reaction to him either. But the fact that Derek had sent those words had him twisting his wrist on the upstroke and spreading the moisture at the tip to ease his way back down. He isn’t even really thinking properly, just hitting buttons on his phone while he works his cock hard with the other.

_And you stared at me the whole time, probably wishing it was yours. You probably were wishing it was me on my knees for you and that’s why you never looked away._

Shit, Stiles watched too much porn. ‘ _On his knees_ ?’ Seriously? But if Derek was going to make fun of him then Stiles would give it back just as much. It’s not like Derek was completely innocent in those encounters. He could have yelled at Stiles to leave or at least closed his stupid eyes and not _stared him down the whole time_. And Derek was the one who practically forced Stiles to jerk off so…yeah. Derek had issues too.

_You wish I’d let you suck me off and make you swallow it down as I fuck your mouth._

He tries really, really hard not to picture it. Honestly, he does, but his hand on his dick feels so good and the things he’s reading in Derek’s voice are dirty like porn or something. And Stiles has seen a lot of porn, okay? He’s fourteen and he’s got a computer in his room; of course he’s seen porn.

He’s also seen Derek’s cock and how he looks when he’s spread out getting a blow job. It’s like _impossible_ for Stiles not to just insert himself into the picture in his mind and to feel the phantom weight of something hot and solid, smooth against his tongue. Stiles comes on the next down stroke, gripping the base of his dick, digging the edge of his palm down into the skin at the root as rope after rope pours out. His lips are sore and a little bloody from where he’s been biting at them to keep the noise down.

After taking some deep breaths so his brain can maybe start functioning again, Stiles wipes his hand off on the fabric of his boxers with a grimace before pulling his hand out and refastening his jeans. There’re still a few smears of come on his palm. He is tempted—so tempted—to snap a picture of him licking his hand to send to Derek. But he doesn’t and just wipes his palm off again, this time on his jeans. He’s going to go straight home, throw these clothes in the laundry, and take a shower. He’s going to pretend that he didn’t just get done masturbating in a freaking _alleyway_ at like one o’clock in the afternoon where anyone could have found him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> La angst

Stiles ends up spending the next weekend at home. When Scott asks if he wants to come over for a  _ Blade _ marathon, Stiles claims he’s got a bunch of chores to do but invites Scott to spend the night Monday. And then Stiles gets grounded on Tuesday because Dad found out he’d been snooping through the evidence room when he got left alone for a half hour that day. So by the following weekend, when Stiles is finally allowed out of the house and when he’s feeling a lot less obvious, he bikes over to Scott’s.

The Camaro isn’t even in the driveway so Stiles smiles lightly and throws his bike against the bushes before heading inside.

“What do you think about lacrosse?” Scott asks during a commercial break.

They’re in the living room because the TV is bigger and no one is home to complain about them watching reruns of  _ Fantasy Factory _ . Stiles definitely does not think about the fact that he is sitting in the same space Derek had gotten a blow job in. It’s not like he can ask to switch places with Scott without having to come up with some reason why he doesn’t want to sit on this particular cushion. So he just slumps there and tries not to focus on how close the staircase actually is to the couch and how it must have been so clear that Stiles was just sitting there. Stiles snaps his attention back to Scott.

“Uh, it’s a sport and therefore ridiculous?” Stiles knows where this conversation is headed. They've been here before. “Dude, you have asthma. It would be almost impossible for you to safely play any sport except for like golf but the pollen and stuff would probably  _ still _ mess you up.”

Scott hits him on the arm and gives him a dirty look. “My asthma is getting better. We could totally make at least second line. Lacrosse is a big deal.” When Stiles just rolls his eyes, Scott presses the issue. “Besides, Jackson plays lacrosse and Lydia dates Jackson so…”

“Ugh, you’re seriously trying to use my undying love for Lydia to your advantage, aren’t you?” He pushes at Scott, rolling his eyes.

“ _ Duh _ . I really want to play something, Stiles, and I want to play with you. You’ve already shot down basketball and baseball—“

“Because  _ Derek _ plays those.” Stiles mumbles a little darkly but Scott ignores him.

“So that only leaves cross-country—“

“Which I don’t think is really even a sport. It’s running for no reason. Which Derek also does.”

“And lacrosse. If we make the team, then we like automatically  _ have _ to be invited to all the cool parties. Derek wasn’t cool when he was younger but then he started playing sports and all the sudden he was going out and hanging with the popular kids.” Scott looks so hopeful and proud of his argument.

“Asthma, Scott. You have asthma.” Stiles feels kind of guilty for using Scott’s physical condition against him but that doesn’t make it any less of a valid point when it comes to considering organized sports.

“It’s manageable. I already talked to Mom about it and she said we would talk to the doctor at my next visit to see what she says. But,” Scott grinned really big “Mom said she didn’t think there would really be much of a problem especially if I was okay with second string. Coaches can’t keep kids from trying out just because of asthma.”

Stiles gives Scott a flat look. “Oh my God, fine. If you are so hung up on this, I’ll try out with you.” He slumps further into the couch, rubbing his head against the back of the couch. Scott has a point about Lacrosse potentially helping their social standing. It would be cool to get to go to a party where he was actually wanted.

Stiles rubs a hand over his head. Having a buzz cut still feels kind of weird. Whenever something brushes against his short hair, he gets goosebumps and shivers; he’s kind of fascinated with it, really.

Holding out his fist for Stiles, Scott smiles. “Sweet, dude!” After Stiles reluctantly bumps fists, he sits back and keeps the grin on his face. “It’ll be so cool, Stiles. We’ll make the team and get to know everyone. We’ll get girlfriends.” He nudges Stiles in the side conspiratorially. “Girls will actually like us.”

“Scott, you’re lucky I like you so don’t get too upset when you find out girls don’t automatically start wanting to date you just because you’re a benchwarmer on the lacrosse team. Hate to break it to you, but you’re a dorky, awkward loser who is best friends with a dorky, awkward loser.” Stiles shrugs. “But you’ve got an impossibly optimistic outlook on things. And as your best friend, I have to let you browbeat me into agreeing to this plan of yours. Why, Scott? Because, I, unlike you, am a  _ good friend _ who supports his best friend even when he thinks said best friend is being stupid.”

Stiles gives Scott a significant look only to receive an eye roll in return. His cell phone buzzes in his pocket so he fishes it out.

“Okay, so I was wrong about the haircut. Dude, let it go. This lacrosse thing is such a better plan to get chicks than buzzing your head.”

Scott leans forward to grab his soda for a drink so Stiles checks the text message. It’s from Derek.

_ Fair warning, I’m home now. You know, in case you want to run away. _

Stiles squeaks and bolts up from the couch, eyes on the front door. He’s frozen there for a moment until Scott breaks him out of his panic.

“Dude, what?”

“I have to pee. Yeah, my bladder is like way full and I need to pee.” Stiles flails a little as he tries to get around the coffee table without tripping on one of the legs. “So I’m going to go do that—pee.”

He ignores the crazy look Scott gives him and the “what the heck is  _ wrong _ with you?” he asks. Stiles bolts up the stairs and shuts the bathroom door behind him.

Okay, so Stiles might actually be running away from Derek. And ignoring the two or three texts that Derek had sent him over the past week. Stiles also hasn’t bumped into Derek at all—on purpose.

But, honestly, what is he supposed to say to Derek? “’Sup, man? Sexting you was pretty hot.”

Because later that night when Stiles was lying in bed (after jacking off again), it hit him that he and Derek had essentially  _ sexted _ each other. Once he realized that, Stiles’ brain automatically started asking _ “did Derek get as turned on as I did from our sexts? Did Derek have to jerk off right in the middle of it too?” _ And those kinds of questions (and God, the visuals his traitorous brain was supplying) have been driving Stiles crazy.

He’s not…Stiles has never actually thought to question who and what he is attracted to (Lydia) before so this whole thing between him and Derek is like being blindfolded and spun around in circles before being shoved towards the goal. He’s all over the place, unsure and feeling weird with his stomach almost constantly jumbled up with nerves. Thinking about Lydia has never made Stiles feel the same way thinking about Derek does now.

The idea of Lydia is a comfort and an ideal. She’s beautiful and fierce with an incredibly intelligent mind that she makes a sport of hiding. The fact that she pretends Stiles doesn’t exist on her plane makes it easy to fall in love with her. Stiles has thought about this a lot over the past few days, okay?

It doesn’t help that Scott and Derek have pointed out just how stupid his crush is. Not that he really needs their support to like who he likes—because Stiles knows it’s okay to like whoever he wants and he shouldn’t feel shame in being attracted to someone—but having the people closest to him list the reasons why Lydia is no good for him just kind of makes Stiles  _ think _ finally.

And what he’s come up with is that maybe he’s been so focused on Lydia because he can’t actually have her. Stiles has built this obsession he has with Lydia into the essential core of who he is:  _ likes curly fries, has brown eyes, loves Lydia Martin _ . It’s just easy. Loving Lydia from afar means he doesn’t look at anyone around him that way and means he doesn’t have to worry about actual rejection.

So Stiles might have spent like six hours on the internet reading about relationship psychology last week.

But now this thing with Derek is happening and Stiles isn’t really even sure if it can qualify as a…thing…whatever. The point is Stiles finds himself wanting to text or call Derek any time he stumbles onto something funny or cool when he’s trolling the internet. When he’s over at Scott’s, Stiles is aware of Derek’s presence in the house. It’s like a hot veil on his skin that radiates whenever Derek is in the same room as him now. Making Derek smile and laugh has become a pretty big priority where he used to just want to make him smirk or get angry. And Stiles’ dreams feature hazel eyes and lean muscle way more frequently than strawberry blonde hair and supple skin lately. These things Stiles is feeling are the same ones he used to feel about Lydia but they are amplified about twenty times.

That’s the problem. Somehow, Stiles has gone from an entertaining antagonistic acquaintance with Derek to semi-friends and now there’s this overlying…tension...between them. And it’s like. Shit, man. Stiles has a  _ crush _ on Derek freaking McCall.

Stiles bumps his head against the door in frustration and groans. The handle turns and someone starts to push in making him stumble just a bit forward. He recovers and is bearing backwards, digging his bare feet into the linoleum floor for leverage.

“Go away, I’m in here!”

The force pushing against his back is gone suddenly but is followed by a text message alert on Stiles’ phone.

_ Smooth. I didn’t think you were actively avoiding me but fine. I get it. _

Sucking on his bottom lip, Stiles can’t help the swoop in his stomach and the anxiety that lights up inside. It's not fair that Derek is mad at him when  _ Derek _ is the one who made everything...weird between them. The frustration and anger he's been trying to bury lately are all Derek's fault, completely.  But. That doesn't mean Stiles actually wants things to  _ stop _ , you know? That’s not what he wants. He doesn’t want Derek to go away. Well, he wants it to stop kind of—but like just the part where he doesn’t know if Derek is being a royal ass to him with all this sex stuff. Stiles definitely doesn’t want Derek to stop wanting to talk to him though.

_ I’m not avoiding you, stop being a drama queen. _

_ Really? Coulda fooled me since you haven’t replied to any of my texts. What’s your malfunction, Stilinski? _

Stiles frowns at the use of his last name. Derek used to call him by that whenever he was especially pissed off with Stiles.

_ I’ve been busy. Didn’t mean to hurt your delicate feelings, MCCALL. _

_ Yeah okay, whatever. So are you off your period now or what? Because I’m kind of tired of the silent treatment. I’ve got better things to do than worry about you being pissy at me for no reason. _

He breathes in and out slowly, letting his muscles relax because this is getting back to normal. Stiles scoots down onto the floor and continues to text. He’s not got an answer as to whether or not Derek has similar feelings as Stiles about their last text conversation (and he definitely doesn’t know if Derek actually likes him or not) but it’s enough to know that he hasn’t screwed up everything by freaking out.

_ Aw, you do care about me. Baby, you so gooooood. _

_ You can’t see it but I just rolled my eyes at you. _

_ Weak comeback, Dere Bear. But that’s okay, I know you secretly just missed me. _

Seriously, Stiles doesn’t know what he would do if not for sarcasm. He’s nervous as heck that Derek will call him out on everything. Stiles isn’t stupid, honestly. He knows something is going on between them but he doesn’t know how to label it and he’s kind of scared by it. He’s scared and excited by it.

_ Sure _ .

“Did you fall in?” Scott pounds on the bathroom door.

Stiles scrambles up, face feeling warm because he got caught up in the conversation with Derek and sort of forgot Scott was waiting for him downstairs. He runs his hands under the tap, pats them on his jeans and opens the door.

“Ever heard of privacy, Scott? It’s a thing.” He flicks his fingers, getting droplets of water on Scott’s scrunched up face.

“Dude, what you do in your bathroom is your own business but I really don’t need you defiling the bathroom we share with our  _ mom _ .”

Scott’s leading him back downstairs but Stiles can’t stop from looking over his shoulder at Derek’s bedroom. The door is open but the light is off.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More dessert porn

Because Stiles isn’t a total masochist, he tells Scott he has to sit in the middle.

“No way, Stiles.  _ Rock, Paper, Scissors _ for it.” Scott throws his fist out cradling it in his other palm with a determined look on his face.

The next morning, that’s how Stiles ends up squished between Scott and Derek even after best eight out of nine. Middle seats suck because you can’t control a window or lean your head against the door to catch a semi-comfortable nap. Also, the stupid hump in the footwell makes Stiles either have his knees practically under his chin or he has to spread his legs a little and vie for foot space on both Scott’s and Derek’s side—that makes his knees ache at being bent the wrong way because there’s like just enough room for the three of them to fit in the back of Dad’s Toyota. Which, his dad is driving so shouldn’t that mean Stiles automatically gets a window seat? Nope. Apparently not.

“You should have tried harder to get your mom to let you drive.” Stiles is mullish but as the guy stuck in a truly uncomfortable seat he has a right. “It’s my birthday.” He bumps his fist against Derek’s knee in reproach. He also ignores the little flip that action garners from his stomach.

Melissa leans her head back and says, “Your birthday was yesterday thus your argument is moot.”

“So it’s my birthday weekend.” Stiles elbows Scott. “It’s our birthday weekend so Derek should be stuck in the crappy seat.”

Derek smacks him lightly on the side of the head despite the fact that he’s been pretending to sleep against the window—the window Stiles really, really wishes he had access too—with his earbuds plugged in. Stiles is mildly amused, though he wouldn’t admit it, at the way Derek wiggles his butt around as if to illustrate just how comfortable his seat really is.

Scott’s nodding his head in agreement, pushing forward in his seat like he can use his puppy dog eyes on his mom even if she’s not facing him. “He’s got a point, Mom. We are doing this whole beach thing because it’s our birthday weekend. Shouldn’t that mean we get a little special treatment?”

Yeah, Scott is definitely the best friend a dude could ask for. Stiles grins at him brightly, despite the horribly early hour. He can see his dad’s eyebrows climbing up in the rearview mirror but since he’s not said anything yet, Stiles figures he and Scott have a minute more of whining before they get actually scolded. He’ll take it.

“I think that’s  _ exactly _ what it should mean.” Stiles scoots forward and rests his elbows on the backs of Melissa’s and Dad’s seats. “Birthdays are important and you should shower your loved ones with all the affection and love possible when celebrating their birthdays. It’s only the right thing to do. And you can do that by giving me a window seat.”

“Stiles, sit back.” His dad has heard enough; Stiles can tell by his tone that he’s not winning this argument right now. “It’s seven in the morning and you’re running on all cylinders. Take a nap or something okay? At the first pit stop you and Scott can switch seats.”

Scott makes a put-upon sigh but mumbles, “Okay.”

“What about all my reasons, Dad. I’ve done a good job of proving my case here. Obviously, Derek should have to sit in the middle. It’s our birthday weekend!”

He’s well aware that he’s really starting to sound like a petulant little kid here but his butt already kind of hurts from the curve of the cushion on his seat. Clearly, Toyota says that this car was built to seat five but really Toyota is a lying liar who really only makes sedans that comfortably seat four. Also, Stiles fully believes that there should be a free pass to getting one’s way on a birthday weekend. This should definitely be a thing.

“Stiles,” Dad is using his warning voice “do you know why it’s your birthday weekend? It’s because I brought you into this world. Please don’t make me take you out of it. Now, be quiet and deal with the fact that you’re stuck in the middle for the next little bit.”

He does slump back in his seat after catching the small smile Melissa tries to hide at his dad’s stupid joke. “Still don’t see why Derek automatically gets the window seat.” He mutters it under his breath so Dad won’t hear easily.

“Because I’m taller than both of you and need the leg space.” Derek makes a show of stretching his feet up under Dad’s seat, rocking his ankles back and forth just in case Stiles doesn't see that Derek has lots of space.

Stiles looks over at Derek and squints. “You don’t even have that thing on do you?” he accuses, grabbing for the iPod lying on Derek’s lap. He swipes it, brushing his fingers against Derek’s basketball shorts, to inspect. His pulse has kicked up just a bit and his cheeks might be slightly pink but he staunchly ignores it in favor of scrolling through the playlists Derek has made once he turns the thing on because, yes, Derek had just been  _ pretending _ to listen to music.

Shrugging, Derek doesn’t defend himself and doesn’t try to take his iPod back. He just tilts his head a little to the side so he can keep leaning against the window but still see what Stiles is doing. The angle makes shadows across his throat and ear from where the morning light is shining through on the other side. 

There’s this kind of glow around Derek’s head because of it and that gives Stiles a sudden urge to push his fingers through Derek’s gelled hair. Of course Derek freaking styled his hair even though they had to get up at five this morning. At least he’s still dressed in ratty clothes—an old Tasmanian Devil tee that Stiles has never seen Derek wear in public and red basketball shorts—just like Stiles and Scott so he doesn’t look completely, ridiculously attractive. But Derek’s calves do look really nice and muscled and that shirt is a little on the tight side so his biceps are just like  _ right there _ . Stiles swallows and looks back down at the iPod.

“Oh you have the new Young the Giant album?” Stiles taps the screen so he can see the song list.

“Wanna listen?” Derek offers an earbud as he plugs the designated left one into his right ear so they can conceivably accommodate two people using them at once. He looks genuine and a little happy around the eyes.

Stiles snatches the earbud from Derek with a smile. “I accept this as your apology for being a window seat hog.” He tucks it into his ear and hits the play button, still holding the iPod hostage like it’s his own for the duration.

When Derek shifts over a little to keep the cord from being too tight, Stiles decides it’s perfectly reasonable for him to lean his head on Derek’s shoulder. He’s doing his part to keep the earbud cord from splitting down any further. There’s no reaction from Derek other than his fingers tapping out the rhythm to the song against the side of his thigh; the back of his hand brushes against Stiles’ leg every other beat.

* * *

Stiles is jolted out of sleep when Melissa claps her hands and says, “Rise and shine, boys! Time to stretch our legs a little.”

His neck is killing him and Scott’s a dead weight against his side leaving drool pooled against his shoulder. Stiles uses his elbow to maneuver Scott into a sitting position before he realizes how he’s been lying himself. Sometime during the past two hours the three of them had fallen asleep. Derek is twisted with his back more or less against the door and Stiles curled into his chest, hand holding the iPod resting in the dip between Derek’s legs.

They both seem to become conscious of this at the exact same time. Derek’s thigh muscle tenses and there’s a definite hitch in his chest while Stiles drops the iPod and pulls his arm away like it’s burning. He really tries to not think about the fact that he could feel the curve and heat of Derek’s junk against his wrist. It’s a good thing that whatever Derek had been dreaming about hadn’t been particularly sexy or things could be even more awkward. He clears his throat, unbuckling his seatbelt, and pushes Scott out of the door despite the fact that Scott was still trying to wiggle the heel of his left foot back into his sneaker.

“Where are we?” Scott asks as he leans against Stiles so he can finish putting his shoes back on.

“Fruit stand.” Dad shuts his door and braces his weight against the hood of the car so he can stretch out his back. “Maybe we can get a dessert for tonight—something homemade.”

Stiles reads the hand painted sign that declares ‘homemade pies, cakes, and preserves’ that is sticking up out of the side of the gravel parking lot they are pulled off in. There are four other vehicles in the lot that are mostly in-state tags with the exception of one Washington state. Stiles is glad his dad didn’t win the debate about playing car games because this far up California isn’t going to attract many out of state visitors who aren’t from Nevada or Oregon. Despite being on the side of the interstate, this place looks homey with a long front porch dotted with rocking chairs. The fact that there is a heavy scent of baking lingering in the air makes Stiles forget about any reservations he might have had.

Melissa hooks her arm back over her shoulder for a quick stretch before walking ahead with Dad in tow. Looking back at the car because he hasn’t heard the fourth door shut yet, Stiles finds Derek lying on the bench seat with his legs sticking out of the car. He’s got his head pillowed on his arms and he’s just staring up at the ceiling. When Scott grabs Stiles’ wrist to drag him off towards the fruit display, he stops.

“You comin’ or what?” Stiles asks through the open window.

Blinking and then tilting his head back so he can see Stiles without having to get up, Derek says, “I’ll catch up in a minute.” He kicks his left leg up onto the seat, knee bent, and Stiles sort of tracks the way Derek’s leg falls to the side and the material of his basketball shorts rides down his thigh a little. Derek smiles a little slyly.

“Okay, man, but don’t get pissed if we eat all the pie without you.” He grins and lets Scott finally drag him off towards a table with juicy looking strawberries.

They all had breakfast at five thirty this morning. Dad made breakfast burritos to bring over to the McCalls so they could eat and load up the car at the same time while Melissa provided coffee and orange juice. Despite the fact that they did actually eat a relatively healthy breakfast, Stiles feels oddly like he’s getting away with something by buying a two scoop ice cream cone at nine in the morning. 

The fruit stand has only been open for a half hour by this point and it seems that the majority of its patrons are buying jams, cups of coffee, and fruit. He and Scott are the only ones who want ice cream. Melissa opts for a slice of the blackberry cobbler which does look pretty yummy. But Stiles is totally digging the Rocky Road. Dad doesn’t bother with actual desserts at the moment because he’s too busy fawning over the large selection of relishes that make Stiles want to puke at the mere thought of.

“Do you think there’s a place we can rent boards at?” Stiles asks Scott.

“Maybe?” Scott shrugs and licks a big glob of Superman ice cream off his cone because he’s still six years old when it comes to ice cream flavors. “It’s the beach and we live in California, yeah? It’s probably really expensive though because of liability and stuff. I want to do one of those hang gliding things off the back of a boat. That’d be awesome!”

Stiles pictures it—imagines the wind blowing in his face and how small the people on the beach would look from so far up—and he promptly shivers. “Yeah, I’m cool with just surfing. It’d be my luck that the line would snap and I’d go careening off and land against a cliff or like somebody’s beach house or something. Not exactly the way I’d hoped to die, Scott. But you can go for it. I’ll totally cheer for you from the safety of the land.”

“Since when do you not have a sense of adventure, Stiles?” Derek asks as he slides onto the picnic bench with a slice of strawberry tart. “I thought you like to do stupid shit.”

“There’s stupid and then there’s  _ stupid _ .” Stiles explains with a roll of the eyes. He goes to swipe his tongue against the ice cream cone in his hand when he suddenly thinks about the text Derek sent last week ‘ _ ate your come like it was ice cream running down your fingers _ ’ and he hesitates.

Derek is just sitting there though, shoveling the strawberry tart into his mouth like someone might try and steal it. He’s got his sunglasses on now too because it’s really bright next to the highway without much shade apart from the overhang. The rocking chairs along the store’s porch were occupied when Stiles and Scott went looking for a place to eat their treats and ended up taking a picnic table along the outskirts of the property, next to the parking lot. With Derek’s eyes hidden behind the sunglasses, Stiles can’t tell what he’s looking at. It’s both a blessing and a curse because Stiles really wants to eat his ice cream without picturing how porn-y it might look.

“You’ll go hang gliding with me, right Derek?” Scott sounds like he’s sure of it and is trying to make Stiles feel lame for not agreeing too.

Stiles takes that moment to lick a big stripe of ice cream where it’s melting and actually starting to run down his hand. He closes his eyes and lets it slide down his throat; it’s really good stuff. When he opens his eyes again, Derek is discussing with Scott the merits of hang gliding or bungee jumping. The love of adrenaline-inducing activities is something the brothers both share and something Stiles will probably never be totally on board with but he’s okay with that.

He’s almost down to the cone—his ice cream just a little mound on top now—when he realizes that Derek’s head is turned a little more towards him than it is Scott as they talk. Derek’s been finished with his tart for the past few minutes but keeps twisting the plastic fork in his fingers while chatting. Stiles has the distinct feeling that behind those dark sunglasses, Derek is stealing glances at him.

It’s already close to ninety so Stiles figures that the flush that pools in his cheeks can be easily explained away if anyone were to question him. Despite the fact that he had been initially irritated at the concept of eating an ice cream cone in front of Derek, he’s getting that itch to  _ push _ again. It’s the same feeling that gets him in trouble at the station and ends up with him in detention at school for explaining to his teacher why she’s wrong about his answers to his tests. With the idea of Derek watching him, Stiles kind of wants to make it a little interesting.

Staring deliberately off into the distance over Derek’s shoulder like he’s zoned out or something, Stiles tilts his cone up and takes little kitten licks with the tip of his tongue. That uncovers a chopped almond so he lazily drags his bottom lip over it a couple times in order to pull it loose so he can flick it into his mouth with his tongue. Honestly, this isn’t really a deviation from his regular procedure of eating ice cream (or eating in general because he tends to make a mess and get kind of, well,  _ mouthy _ when eating) so he figures the chances of Derek getting turned on or whatever are pretty slim. But he’s getting kind of turned on at the thought of doing something deliberately sexual in front of Derek. So.

He switches to making big strokes with the flat of his tongue once the almonds are out of the way—does it slowly and digs the end of his tongue in at the very last second to scoop a small bit of ice cream off to swallow. And then there’s nothing left but what’s been stuffed into the cone. 

He considers it for a moment before flicking his gaze two inches to the right to look at where Derek’s eyes are still hidden behind the sunglasses. Derek’s face is a little red and he’s got sweat starting to bead up at his sideburns but it really is kind of hot out so Stiles doesn’t know if he’s actually having any effect. Stiles decides to just go for it because what he’s doing is both really dirty under a certain context but also not taboo in the least as far as the general population is concerned. Well, okay so maybe most people wouldn’t do this but Stiles is Stiles and everyone knows he’s weird.

He takes his index finger and digs into the cone to pull a dollop out. Letting it rest for just a beat so it melts a little more, Stiles brings his hand up to his mouth and sucks his whole finger, twisting it to get all the ice cream off. Stiles does this three more times, adding a second finger on the last one so he can get the very dregs out of the cone. The mallow in the Rocky Road makes his fingers a little more sticky and webs between his index and middle finger before Stiles breaks it with the tip of his tongue.

It’s a huge mess that he hadn’t exactly thought to count on because melted ice cream has run down his palm and onto his wrist while he sucks on his two fingers. The pads of his fingers are a little pruney now from being wet and there’s actually not any ice cream left on them but Stiles keeps sucking. He sucks hard enough to hollow his cheeks before pulling them out of his mouth with a little ‘pop’ sound. Looking down at his now empty cone innocently, Stiles tilts his hand so he can lick a stripe up from his wrist to his palm where the ice cream had slid.

“Dude, gross.” Scott declares when he apparently realizes Stiles hasn’t contributed anything to the conversation for the last five minutes or so.

Stiles shrugs and steals some of Derek’s napkins. “What? The cone hurts my teeth.” He grins despite the fact that his gaze keeps bouncing between Derek’s face and the area around them.

Scott shakes his head and takes Stiles’ cone away because he’s getting up to go to the trash can. “So get a bowl of ice cream. That’s a waste of food."

“But ice cream cones are way better.” Stiles scrunches his nose as he climbs up off the picnic table. He turns his smile to Derek and with a rush of adrenaline, asks, “right, Derek?”

Scott rolls his eyes while Derek clears his throat. His face definitely looks a lot pinker than can be explained away by high temperatures. Stiles’ smile widens in accomplishment.

“Yeah, they’re pretty great,” Derek finally manages after clearing his throat again. His voice still sounds a little rough.


	9. Chapter 9

“Dibs! Dibs, dibs, dibs, dibs!” Stiles crows as he pushes into the hotel room and launches himself at the far bed. He face plants into the pillows and doesn’t even care when his backpack lands solidly against his back, heavy with his XBOX system.

“I get the wall though.” Scott declares as he dumps his own backpack right on top of Stiles.

“The best. Our parents are the best and I love them forever and ever. I’m going to nap in this glorious queen sized bed that’s huge and it’s going to be  _ awesome _ .”

“Beach, dude. We’re hitting the beach like  _ right now _ .” Scott must be rummaging for his swim trunks because Stiles’ back jiggles where Scott’s bag is resting on his butt. “We’ve got like six hours until dinner and I intend to spend every minute in the ocean.”

“Definitely,” Derek adds from wherever he is across the room.

Stiles shoves Scott’s bag off him and turns so he can slip the straps off his shoulders. Gently placing his backpack on the floor by the bedside table, he sits up and watches Derek fill their mini fridge with single serve protein shakes and the four pack of Monsters Scott made him bring. The Taz shirt Derek is wearing rides up a little on his back letting the top of his boxer briefs peek out from where the basketball shorts sit low. Derek’s wearing dark gray boxer briefs. That seems like a really important piece of information to Stiles for some reason.

Stiles shakes his head and quickly looks away before flopping back down onto the bed and toeing off his shoes so they thump onto the floor. 

“No, I am so totally napping right now. You two can go tan.” He speaks with disdain because while Scott and Derek get darker in the sun, Stiles only manages to burn and freckle. At most, his forearms get a little dark but it’s hardly anything in comparison with Scott’s even summer tan he always manages to get between school years.

Derek gives Stiles a look over his shoulder from where he’s still crouched in front of the mini fridge. “Don’t be jealous. I’m pretty sure Mom packed you the SPF one thousand, Stiles. I could rub you down so you don’t get cancer on the first day here.”

Scott, the traitor— _ oblivious _ traitor—just laughs before heading to the bathroom to change into one of the  _ six _ pair of trunks he packed. Stiles is stuck imagining Derek’s hands smoothing sunblock into his skin, curving around his side and hips. Yeah…

Stiles turns over onto his stomach and hugs a pillow to his chest because he’s starting to get hard at the pictures in his head. “Like I said, I’m going to nap.” His words are said more into the pillows than to Derek but whatever.

He hears Derek moving around for a second before he comes over to the space separating the two beds in the room. Stiles peeks over for a second before finally twisting so he can properly see Derek because Derek is just standing there staring. When it’s clear he has Stiles’ full attention, he suddenly tugs his shirt up over his head and tosses it at Stiles’ face. It smells like Derek’s deodorant and sweat and it’s warm and just a little damp against his face.

Stiles yanks the shirt off his face with an over-the-top glare but just as he is able to focus again he sees Derek sitting on his own bed. He’s lifting his hips to slide his boxer briefs off—apparently he’d shucked the basketball shorts while Stiles was occupied—and then Derek is naked. He’s naked right in front of Stiles and he’s  _ looking _ at Stiles as he leans forward to grab the swim trunks he’d pulled from his bag.

Holy shit, Derek is naked. Stiles can’t breathe and he can’t actually break eye contact with Derek—at first he was making himself keep his eye line above the waist, but now he can’t brave a look down. Stiles blinks, and then Derek is sliding his swim trunks up his legs, over his thighs and he’s lifting his hips up again before his crotch is covered. 

Stiles is really, really grateful that he’s got good peripheral vision because it’s one thing to see snippets of Derek’s abs and hips when he’s getting a blow job in the dark and it’s a whole other thing to get a fully naked Derek on display  _ on purpose _ during the day.

“Come on, Stiles, you gotta go to the beach with us,” Scott comes out of the bathroom then. 

Derek looks away from Scott to give his brother a half smile. When Derek looks back at Stiles, Stiles is too busy suffocating himself. “Yeah, Stiles, you should come.”

He groans, shaking his head. “No.” Stiles looks up and gives Derek a real glare this time. “I’m going to  _ nap _ .”

Derek smirks. “Whatever. Enjoy your  _ 'nap _ ,' Stiles.”

It takes Scott another ten minutes to find his flip flops despite the fact that they hadn’t even unpacked yet. Derek just sits on his bed the whole time, messing around on his phone until Scott finally wiggles his toes into his green flip flops and declares it’s time to go.

Stiles jerks off hard and fast as soon as the door shuts behind them. When he comes and moans Derek’s name into the empty hotel room, Stiles doesn’t bother feeling guilty about it. He grabs Derek’s shirt off the floor where he’d dropped it earlier and wipes his hand and crotch off. Derek deserves it.

The nap Stiles has really is awesome afterwards.

* * *

Eventually, Stiles drags himself out of bed to a still empty hotel room. No one bothered to pull the drapes closed so he can see the sun is still pretty high which means he hasn’t missed the entire afternoon. So he quickly changes into a pair of blue and yellow swim trunks—grabs his Star Wars tee and slips it on before shoving his feet into some sandals. He takes ten minutes to hook up the XBOX so it’ll be waiting for them later tonight.

Stiles only brought Halo 3 because he figured they wouldn’t really spend a lot of time playing games when there’s a beach just outside. Still, he couldn’t  _ not _ bring the XBOX, ya know? Anyway, when he went to grab the game system out of his backpack, he’d found Derek’s defiled shirt, and instantly colored at his stupidity. He twisted up the crusted tee and stuffed it to the bottom of his duffle with hopes that Derek wouldn't be asking about it later.

The hotel they are staying at sits right against the beach and has a private access so it isn’t difficult to find his way to where the McCalls and his dad have taken over a rather large chunk of area. Someone already set up Stiles’ camp chair but it’s loaded down with towels and has a pile of abandoned flip flops beneath it. Melissa is lying on a lounge chair she must have rented from the hotel, reading some paperback that has seen better days; she already looks darker after only a couple hours in the sun. Stiles shades his eyes with a hand while he walks up to Melissa.

“Where is everyone?” He asks as he plops down on the chair next to Melissa. He grins when he sees Derek’s sunglasses sitting in the cup holder—snatches them and puts them on. Instantly, his eyes hurt less in the afternoon sun.

Dropping the book to her stomach after marking her place, Melissa says, “The water. I haven’t seen Scott in an hour and a half. I think your dad and Derek are trying to hunt for sand dollars.” She looks over at him, forehead wrinkled. “You should put on sunscreen or you’ll burn.”

Stiles rolls his eyes but fondly agrees. Melissa makes room for him to sit in front of her on the lounge chair and takes over the task of rubbing the lotion into his back and shoulders when Stiles has finished covering his arms, neck and face. Her hands are certain and strong against his back as she swipes them over every inch to make sure he won’t be burnt later. Stiles gets a tight feeling in his chest for a moment because he remembers his own mom doing this for him every summer up until the one she died. 

Melissa flicks the cap closed on the lotion bottle and tosses it to the seat next to them. And then she hugs him from behind, pulling him against her chest so that the stray hairs from her ponytail tickle against his temple. They sit like that for a few moments—Stiles holding Melissa’s arms where they are wrapped around his ribs—before pulling away easily. He feels a little less melancholy but still a kind of ashamed at his acute misery. It’s been years and he still really, really misses his own mom.

“Why don’t you go find the boys?” Melissa rubs a hand over Stiles’ head in fondness, voice loving, before she playfully shoves him off the lounge chair. “Try not to drown or get eaten by sharks because I’m off duty.”

Stiles toes off his sandals. “You’re never off duty, Melissa. You’ve got Scott as a son.” He grins cheekily before jogging towards the shoreline.

“Are you ocean rich yet?” Stiles calls out to where Dad is doing his best not to get knocked over by the waves. Derek surfaces then, wiping the water out of his eyes as he shakes his head at Dad.

Dad taps Derek on the shoulder before half swimming, half lumbering out of the water. Derek follows after him and generally makes Dad look awkward as hell while Derek effortlessly cuts through the water until he can easily walk up the shallows where tiny little waves lick at his ankles. It’s not fair how smooth Derek can be. Dad pushes him from behind to make him stumble, teasing laugh barking out when Derek lists to the side to keep from going all the way down. Stiles’ dad is the best, really.

“You know, for someone who was so excited to be going to the beach, it’s amazing how you missed the first three hours of it.” Dad jokes as he loops an arm around Stiles’ shoulders in a wet hug. “It’s about time you finally came out.”

Stiles can’t stop the blush that colors his cheeks but Dad’s not really looking at him anyway. Besides, Derek decides to jump onto Stiles’ back at that point. He effectively tears Stiles away from his dad because Stiles staggers under Derek’s full weight, trying to keep both of them off the ground.

“Those are mine.” Derek states simply, grin evident in his voice as he reaches up to grab for the sunglasses Stiles is still wearing.

His left arm is wrapped tightly around Stiles’ shoulders and he’s got his knees digging into Stiles’ hips. Derek is like three inches taller and probably weighs twenty pounds more than Stiles so it’s a feat of human strength when they both don’t topple in a heap. Stiles tries valiantly to bob his head away from Derek’s hand while also pulling at the arm around his collar bones; he ends up clonking heads with Derek instead and tripping to the left.

“Finders, keepers, Derek.” Stiles pants the words out because it’s a lot of work to hold the heavier guy up. Dad just shakes his head and keeps walking towards their families’ camp, abandoning Stiles to whatever fate awaits him.

“Get off me, fat ass.” He tries to shake Derek off again but he doesn’t budge.

 

“Fat ass, huh?”

And hey, when did the Earth decide to spin extra fast and go upside down? Stiles is abruptly pulled back and pinned to the ground. He’s so very thankful that they are on a beach and there is wonderful sand to break his fall, even if it does end up getting in his mouth and eyes. Stiles sputters and shakes his head (not unlike a dog who just got a snout full of pollen) and waves his hands in front of his face like that’s going to actually accomplish anything. It’s not like Stiles ever claimed to have awesome fighting skills, okay? When he finally blinks his eyes open, he’s greeted with a smirking Derek hovering over him.

Derek has one of his legs pinned with a knee and he’s holding Stiles down with his full weight distributed between his hands pressing on Stiles’ chest. Stiles immediately circles Derek’s wrists and attempts to use them as leverage to push him off. Not surprisingly, it doesn’t work. Derek’s trips to the gym have obviously been paying off. As if that wasn’t already evident from the sculpted biceps and hysterics-inducing abs that no sixteen year-old should have.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Derek easily twists his arms and has Stiles’ own wrists pinned to the sand on either side of his head. “Did you have a good nap?” He leans forward a little, pushing Stiles down more.

“Duh.” Stiles rolls his eyes and squirms futilely. He gets his free foot up under himself and tries to roll Derek but dude is like a mountain—immovable.

Stiles opens his mouth to insult him but Derek looks up at the ocean and then looks back over his shoulder. That gives Stiles a moment to kind of stare at a whole lot of tanned, naked skin stretched out over him. It also makes Stiles really aware of the fact that Derek’s knees is starting to slide off the meat of his thigh into the space between Stiles’ legs until Derek is essentially straddling his left leg. While holding Stiles down. Mm, yeah.  _ Danger! Danger, Will Robinson _ (even if Stiles doesn’t actually know what that is a reference from, he still feels it is applicable here)!

And then Derek looks down at him with a teasing smile, moving his knee up a few inches until it’s pressing against the juncture of Stiles’ leg and pelvis, nudging his balls. “Is that all you did?  _ Nap _ ?”

He can’t take this anymore. Seriously.

“You’re such a…” Stiles screws up his face and really throws his weight into the attempt of escape. “You’re such an asshole, Derek!” 

He wrenches his arms free and shoves Derek, who seems taken aback by his outrage. “Will you just stop? Stop with the…” He waves his arms around, now standing, and then at Derek in general before huffing and saying, “just stop with all the…you know.”

He doesn’t care that his face and neck are red with anger and embarrassment because he’s fed up with all this tension and joking around. Stiles feels like he’s been going crazy. Turning around, he stalks back up the beach towards their parents. He can see Scott now huddled with a group of girls their age off to the side.

“Everything okay, buddy?” Dad asks when he sees his son’s scowl.

Stiles shoves all the stuff that’s sitting in chair to the ground and plops down. “Awesome. I’m awesome.” He glares at Derek who is slowly walking back up towards him. Stiles whips the stupid sunglasses off and tosses them into the chair next to his but doesn’t say anything else.

When Derek is within earshot, Melissa props herself up on an elbow and asks him, “Anything I should know about?”

Stiles takes a little pleasure in the look of guilt that passes Derek’s features before he shrugs. 

Derek glances over at him before looking back at his mom. “No, we’re good.” Walking a little closer to them, he stops in front of Stiles who looks anywhere but at him. “Can I talk to you?”

“Looks like you’re doing just that, Derek.” Stiles kicks his legs out, crossing his ankles and then his arms. He turns his head to look at where Scott is grinning dopily at a blonde girl who has a tiny rainbow striped bikini on.

Derek lets out a frustrated noise before moving into Stiles’ line of sight. “You know what I mean, Stiles.”

He finally looks at Derek with an eyebrow raised. “I’m not sure I do, Derek. But I’m comfortable here so you can go be a jerk somewhere else for now.”

“Stiles!” Dad reprimands while Melissa asks, “What’s going on, you two?”

They ignore their parents. Stiles doesn’t waver in the face of Derek’s momentarily hurt look before it shifts into rage.

“Fine! Whatever, Stiles.” Derek grabs a towel from his chair and grumbles to his mom, “I’m going back to the room.” And then he simply leaves.

Whatever victory Stiles was feeling quickly dies a terrible death as it’s replaced by uncertainty and a little bit of remorse. Still, he’s not going to go running after Derek. Not after having to put up with everything that’s been going on for the past month. Dodging the questioning look Melissa gives and the actual questions Dad tries, Stiles gets back up and goes over to Scott for distraction.

“Hey! Stiles!” Scott practically shouts even though they are like two feet away from each other now. He pulls Stiles into a side hug. “Girls, this is Stiles. Stiles this is April and Rachel. They’re staying at the hotel too. Isn’t that cool?”

The girls give a little wave, giggling.

“Um, yeah. Cool.” Stiles feels shell shocked for a second because Scott seems to actually be doing really well with these two girls. “Hi. How long are you staying here?”

The blonde, April, gives a half smile. “Until next Friday. We just got here this morning and our parents rented the place for a week. It’s like our yearly tradition, you know? Scott said you’re going home Sunday though.” She pouts.  _ Pouts. _ “That sucks.”

Rachel flicks her brown hair over a shoulder and asks, “Who was that guy that just left?” She doesn’t really look at Stiles because she seems to be staring off at the hotel like she’s hoping Derek will come back and talk to her.

Scott looks back but he’s missed the entire fight between Derek and Stiles so he didn’t see Derek storm off. “Um, was he tall and kinda muscle-y?”

“Yeah.” Rachel exchanges a undecipherable look with April. “So who is he? Like your brother or something? How old is he?”

April rolls her eyes and knocks Rachel on the arm. “Oh my God, Rache  _ stop it _ .”

“That’s Scott’s brother, Derek. He’s an asshole so I wouldn’t waste my time on him, if I were you.” Stiles bites the words out.

He’s still angry at Derek so it feels good to bad mouth him, but he also can’t help the defensiveness that creeps into his voice like he’s trying to warn Rachel off. Like Stiles has some stake in Derek or something. It’s so  _ stupid _ . Stiles is stupid. Ugh. He ignores the surprised look Scott shoots him.

“Well, he’s totally invited tomorrow too.” Rachel’s words come out as a purr and Stiles feels his metaphorical hackles raise.

He narrows his eyes at her for a second before taking a deep breath and looking over at April. “What’s tomorrow?”

Scott turns to him, excitedly, just as two matching grins stretch across the girls’ mouths. “They invited us to hang out in their room tomorrow night after everyone goes to bed. They have their own room too, Stiles. Isn’t that cool?”

“I totally snuck some of my mom’s vodka so we can have a little fun.” April winks at Stiles. “Our parents’ room is like three doors down from us and they’re going out on a date so they won’t bother us. You’ll come over, right? It’ll be a blast, Stiles.”

“And bring Derek. I might be able to make him smile.” Rachel smirks, looking back at the hotel again.

“Dude,  _ please _ say yes!” Scott hisses the words and side-eyes April. He is so clearly into her.

Stiles forces a grin and hooks an arm around Scott. “We’ll be there like swimwear.”

Dropping his forehead to Stiles’ shoulders, Scott mutters, “You’re so lame, Stiles.” But April just laughs so it’s not a big deal.

“Well, we have to go meet back up with our parents for dinner.” Rachel pulls at April who is still grinning at Scott. “Come on, April.” Rachel gives them a pointed look. “Don’t forget to bring Derek.”

“Oh! You need my number! For the party tomorrow.” April blushes prettily.

“Um…” Scott looks sheepish as he runs a hand through his hair.

Because Stiles is an amazing friend, he intervenes. “We left our phones in the room. Do you have yours?” When April nods her head and produces a phone from a back pocket on her cutoff jeans, he recites his number as if it were Scott’s. “He never remembers it.”

April laughs. “Yeah, it’s not as if you go around calling yourself all the time, right?” Her fingers fly over the touch screen and she looks back up at Scott. “There. I sent you a text so you have my number now.”

Scott leans heavily on Stiles and sighs, “Awesome. Thanks April.”

Rachel just rolls her eyes with a smile before she pulls April away finally.

“You owe me so much for that!” Stiles nudges Scott off. “How did you even get them to talk to you?”

Scott stares at the girls as they disappear up to the hotel before he’s able to answer. And then he’s throwing himself at Stiles in a bear hug. “Thank you so much! I got her number! She gave me her number! A girl gave me her number! This is the best birthday ever! Yes!”

Stiles can’t help the laugh of joy that bubbles out of him at Scott’s exuberance. He pats his best friend’s back. “Yeah, you did! You totally got a hot chick’s number and you’re going to hang out with her tomorrow night, dude!”

They high five when they break apart and move back towards Melissa and Dad.

“I can use your phone right? You’ll let me text her with it?” Scott picks up a bottled water from the ice chest and takes a huge sip.

“Text who?” Melissa asks.

“ _ April _ . The stone cold fox that Scott was just talking to.” Stiles laughs when Scott chokes on his water.

Melissa gets a dopey look on her face before it changes into a leer. “Ooh,  _ a girl _ , Scott.”

“ _ Mom _ ! Don’t  _ do _ that!” He covers his face with a hand. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“I don’t know, Scott. The way you were freaking out made it sound like a pretty big deal,” Dad teases. He looks over at Stiles then. “Everything okay between you and Derek?”

“Yeah, what was that all about anyway?” Scott asks after finishing half the bottle of water. “Were you just trying to head off competition? Rachel is really pretty too. I think she liked you.”

Melissa and Dad both look a lot more interested in this conversation than Stiles is comfortable with.

“We’re fine, Dad. No, I’m not jealous, Scott. There’s no way in hell Rachel liked me anyway. It’s a good thing you’re pretty because sometimes you’re a little dumb.” Stiles huffs in amusement at his friend for a second before he scowls at the sand. “Derek was just being a jerk earlier and we got into a fight. No biggie.”

Stiles really wants to go be alone in the hotel room, away from these people who like want him to be happy and stuff. Right now, he’s not happy and he really doesn’t want anyone trying to find out why. He’s not even sure  _ he _ knows exactly why he’s upset. Besides, it’s not like he can actually tell anyone how things have been going between him and Derek—not without it just producing a thousand more questions.

“I’m sure you’ll work it out. You guys have been getting along so well lately.” Dad’s words sound hopeful but his tone says it’s an order. Stiles sighs and nods because it’s expected.

“Dude,” Scott slaps at Stiles, smiling, “We have a few more hours of daylight. Let’s go swimming. You haven’t been in the water yet!”

Stiles checks his dad and Melissa before pushing himself back up. “Let’s do this.” But he’s smiling a little and feels less weighed down once they’re in the ocean. Scott’s always been good at distracting him when he gets stuck in his head. One of the perks of best friendship, right?


	10. Chapter 10

Dinner ends up being Chinese takeout because the parents are wiped out after the long drive that morning and then spending so much time at the beach. Scott chooses the type of food because Stiles got to have grilled steaks last night. It takes a ridiculously long time to get everyone to agree on what they want to order and then Melissa has a hard time reading Dad’s chicken scratch handwriting so by the time the order is phoned in, no one really wants to move.

Stiles is sitting cross legged on the floor by Dad’s bed, picking at the small patch of sunburn he got on his arm when he hears, “You and Stiles go get the food.” He looks up in time to see Dad handing over his keys to Derek.

“Birthday weekend, Dad. No can do.” Stiles goes back to poking at the sunburn, hissing a little each time his finger presses into the sore skin. He can hear Derek getting up from the table by the window, keys jingling in his hand. “Derek’s a big boy, he can go by himself.”

“Hey, can we get some drinks? And candy? And maybe some jerky?” Scott asks.

Dad clears his throat. “Stiles,  _ go help Derek _ .”

Rolling his eyes, because he knows that his dad really means “go talk to Derek,” he gets up off the floor. “Can Scott come?”

Derek groans. “If Stiles wants to stay here, I don’t care. I can do this by myself.”

Stiles shoots him a sharp look before turning pleading eyes to his dad. Scott’s got his puppy dog face on now too.

“Stiles, go help Derek. Scott, you and I are going to go get ice and find out if there is a continental breakfast in the morning.”

“Dude, your face doesn’t work.” Stiles sounds wounded but he can tell Scott doesn’t really care because he’s still typing away at his phone, texting April. With a heavy sigh, Stiles heads over to the door where Derek is still standing. “I get to pick the music.”

Dad looks mollified and Derek rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Stiles.”

The first few minutes in the car are taken up by buckling in, turning the engine, and scrolling through the radio stations until Stiles finds a suitably good one and leaves it there. That only gets them to the first stop light though. Then, there’s a heavy cloud of tension hanging between them. Well, if Derek’s not going to say anything, then neither is Stiles. He can do the Silent Treatment just as well as anyone else.

A Three Days Grace song comes on and finishes. Then an old Smashing Pumpkins song starts—that one that gets overplayed on the alt rock stations despite the fact that it’s like almost fifteen years old or something.

“This is all your fault.” Stiles spits the words out before he even realizes it.

Derek takes a left onto Ocean Avenue (which is a really unimaginative name for a street in a beach city). “What’s my fault?”

“ _ This _ .” Stiles waves to the space between them like it’s so obvious because it  _ is  _ obvious. “Everything. Why do you have to be such an asshole about stuff?”

“Me? I’m not the one who’s been an asshole, Stiles.” Derek stops at a red light and the Toyota jerks with the force with which Derek used on the brake pedal. “You’ve been driving me crazy!” He turns to glare at Stiles and the traffic light casts a red sheen to his features.

Stiles scoffs. “Whatever, man.” He slumps in his seat, not wanting to continue this conversation. Stiles doesn’t feel like hearing Derek’s side of things; he just wants to be angry and blame it all on Derek because that is easy. The light turns green but the car doesn’t move. “Green light means go.”

Derek makes an annoyed sound but puts the car back into motion. “What was today about? If you’re so pissed at me then what the hell was today about, Stiles?”

He ignores Derek’s question and just stares out the window, watching the lit buildings pass by.

Derek mumbles, “You’re a fucking cock tease” so low, it’s almost drowned out by the music.

Stiles blushes really hard but it takes every ounce of restraint he has not to start whaling on Derek for being such a complete jackass. Instead, he stays silent until they pull into the parking lot of the Chinese place. He swipes the money from the center console that Melissa had given Derek for the food. He’s out of the car before Derek even has a chance to shut off the engine, slamming the door so hard the car rocks from side to side.

The drive back to the hotel is silent but Derek cranks up the radio so “Sweater Weather” bleeds into Stiles’ brain. He wants to be anywhere else right now than next to Derek. He hates that song. When they get back to the hotel, Derek takes the bags while Stiles trudges inside. They stand at the far corners of the elevator on the way up.

Stiles can’t get out of the elevator fast enough and pushes through the doors as they slowly open, getting the bag of takeout caught for a second. Then he’s stalking down the hallway because he’s so angry and hurt and  _ confused _ . He needs to be away from Derek to calm down and get himself together.

“Hey,” Derek snaps “ _ Wait _ .” He grabs at Stiles’ arm to keep him from moving further down the hallway.

Newton’s First Law of Motion gets proven because Stiles ends up swinging around, the weight of his body tugging at the Derek’s grip. Stiles twists his fingers in the handle of the plastic bag in his hand, knuckles white, as he wrenches free of Derek’s grasp. He makes a noise of protest but Derek cuts him off.

“No, Stiles.” Grabbing him again, Derek backs Stiles up against the wall.

They are glaring at each other with angry eyes and both their chests heave like they’ve just run a 5K or something.

When Derek doesn’t say anything else, Stiles shoves at him—only gains about three inches of space for himself. “ _ What _ ! Spit it out!”

Derek growls and smacks his hands against the wall on either side of Stiles and hangs his head for a second. Stiles is overwhelmed by the scent of salt water and Derek’s cologne because they’re so close. Pressing hard against the wall for a little space is the only thing Stiles can manage because Derek has him boxed in and he looks…Derek looks  _ defeated _ .

Stiles tries again, less sharp but still angry. “What?”

Snapping his head up, Derek’s hazel eyes bore into Stiles. “I…” He falters for the words.

Shaking his head, eyes screwed tight, he makes another irritated sound before looking at Stiles again. He moves forward a fraction, hesitates while looking for something in Stiles’ face. And then he’s crashing forward, lips chapped and warm against Stiles’. It’s not even a kiss so much as it’s a fight. Derek bites at Stiles’ bottom lip, tongue sliding against the abused flesh while Stiles pushes forward, digging his chin hard into Derek’s. The burn of Derek’s rough stubble is enough to make Stiles turn his head then, break the kiss, and pull away.

“What the hell?” Stiles gasps out the words; they’re more confused sounding than pissed off. “Why did you…what?”

Derek leans forward more, crowding Stiles, and rests his forehead against Stiles’ temple. His breath is ragged and hot against Stiles’ neck. Shivers run down his arms and he involuntarily tilts his head in offer. Derek closes the two inches between them to mouth at the hinge in Stiles’ jaw. Shit that feels good. He whimpers when Derek licks a wet stripe up the side of his neck and ending it with a tug on his earlobe with his teeth.

“You’re so frustrating, Stiles.” Voice deep and rough, Derek pants against him but doesn’t go back to marking up Stiles’ neck.

He shakes his head because that’s not what’s going on here. ” _ No _ , you’re the one who is frustrating!” Stiles pushes Derek back and he finally moves away with ease. “This is like some big joke to you, isn’t it? See how you can get me going—see how far you can push me. It’s not fucking cool, Derek, and I’m done with it. I’m  _ done _ . You can’t just say stuff and  _ do _ stuff like this without…without—“ Stiles cuts himself off because the elevator dings and an elderly couple start towards them. He takes a deep breath. “Just cut it out.”

Derek gives the couple who just stepped off the elevator a dirty look before turning back to Stiles. 

But Stiles is already headed back to Dad’s room, key card in hand. He ignores when Derek says his name softly and just unlocks the door and heads inside.

“Stiles, are you okay?” is the first thing out of Dad’s mouth and he can’t help but wonder if it’s obvious that he’s just been kissing Derek.

Blood pooling in his cheeks, Stiles shrugs. “I’ll be okay as soon as I can scarf this food down, Pops. I’m starving!” He lets the takeout bag drop to the small table by the window and starts pulling out Styrofoam containers.

Derek comes in right behind him and silently grabs a small fried rice box and a plastic spoon before folding down onto the floor in front of the couch his mom is stretched out on. Melissa pets at Derek’s hair absentmindedly before demanding first choice of the steamed dumplings since she was the one to order them. Dad gets up from the bed and helps Stiles divvy out the food. He opens up his Moo Goo Gai Pan, pulls the open container of Stiles’ Sweet and Sour Chicken and shovels a few spoonfuls into the lid. He gives Stiles all the water chestnuts because Dad is awesome and knows how much Stiles really loves those crunchy little things.

“Dude, you gonna get your grub on or what?” Stiles looks over his shoulder at where Scott is still sitting on the bed. When he sees the way Scott’s eyes are bugged out and his face has lost most of its color, he turns fully around and asks, “What’s up?”

Scott squeaks as he startles but just laughs nervously. “Um, nothing?”

Melissa cocks an eyebrow. “Are you sure, because that sounded like a question, not an answer.”

“Nope.” Scott crawls off the bed and makes a beeline for Stiles. “Nothing’s wrong. I just need to talk to Stiles privately for a minute.” He grabs Stiles by the back of his shirt and tugs him towards the door.

Squawking, Stiles does his best to hold onto his food and not spill it all over the carpet as he’s dragged out of Dad’s room and into the hallway. “What’s your problem, man?”

Scott shakes his head but doesn’t say anything as he stops in front of their door and fishes his key card out, unlocking the door, and shoving Stiles’ inside. After the door is slammed shut, Scott just stands there staring wide-eyed at Stiles.

“What?” Stiles sits down heavily on his bed, food in his lap but temporarily forgotten because Scott looks like he’s about five seconds from puking or something. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“You! And Derek!” Scott finally manages to accuse. “ _ You and Derek _ !”

Stiles rolls his eyes despite the fact that his heart rate has just doubled. “Me and Derek, what?” Yeah, he’s pretty sure he knows what he and Derek mean. But Stiles isn’t going to give away anything without it being pulled out of him first.

Scott runs both hands through his hair. “You and Derek  _ like each other _ !”

A bitter laugh comes out before Stiles can control himself. “Really, Scott?”

Collapsing on Derek’s bed, Scott asks the ceiling, “Why is this happening to me?” Then he suddenly pushes himself up on his elbows and looks at Stiles. “When did this happen? Are you like dating him or…” He wrinkles his nose in disgust, unable to vocalize whatever he’s imagining. He flattens his features quickly enough though and sits up all the way. “You  _ like _ like him, right?”

Stabbing at a tiny corn cob from his dad’s Moo Goo Gai Pan, Stiles gripes, “’ _ Like _ like,’ Scott? I’m sorry but I don’t remember turning around and finding myself in third grade again.”

“Dude, just answer the question! Are you and Derek like a thing or something?” Scott jumps up with irritation.

Stiles crunches on the corn cob and says, “Or nothing.” After swallowing, he sighs. “How do you even know something’s going on?” He squints at Scott when Scott suddenly goes sheepish. “You read my texts, didn’t you!” In a very deep part of Stiles’ brain, he’s actually kind of proud of Scott for doing something so invasive and basic as snooping through his texts. But still. “Oh my God, you totally read through my texts, Scott!”

For his part, Scott rushes to Stiles’ side and sits down heavily, eyes big and pleading. “I’m sorry!” He looks down at the floor and shakes his head. “I mean I’m _really_ _sorry_. That’s not something I ever needed to hear my brother say—or type, whatever. Because dude, so not enough brain bleach in the _world_ to make that go away.”

Stiles smirks at his best friend’s discomfort. He’s actually feeling a little relieved to know that Scott finally knows what’s going on. Never in a million years would Stiles have gone to Scott with this kind of discussion because it’s Derek and there are probably at least some lines Stiles shouldn’t cross in life. But since Scott stumbled upon this whole mess on his own, Stiles is totally selfish enough to capitalize on it. He sits quietly for a few moments and Scott lets him because they’ve been best friends for ages and knows when not to push.

Finally, Stiles says, “So Derek kissed me” He uses his hand to illustrate his next point. “Or well, he like attacked my face with his face.” Dropping his hand to his lap and picking up his fork again, he can’t help but quirk his lips a little. “It wasn’t so bad though. Kinda messy.” When he looks at Scott out of the corner of his eye and sees the look of horror, Stiles relishes, “Really messy and lots of teeth.”

Scott shoves Stiles’ shoulder and groans. “I think I’m going to throw up if you tell me anymore about you kissing  _ my brother _ . Ugh.  _ Gross _ .” He does a full body shiver like he’s trying to shake the images out of his head. But then he asks, “So you do  _ like _ like him? You’re over Lydia and now into Derek?”

Rolling his eyes again, Stiles chomps down on a piece of fried chicken. He didn’t have time to grab the sweet and sour sauce while Scott was dragging him away from their families. It still tastes pretty good and it buys him a moment to formulate his answer.

“Lydia will always fascinate me but,” he takes a deep breath and says something he never would have thought he’d ever say, “I’m not in love with her. Probably wasn’t ever in love with her. She’s just an amazing girl who I never had a chance with anyway. Even if I did have a chance, I probably would’ve ended up resenting her or something. According to research, I put her on a pedestal and that, apparently, leads to nothing but heartache and disaster in relationships.”

Scott opens his mouth and then closes it, looking confused. Then he seems to grab onto a mental thread and asks, “So you’re in love with Derek, then?”

Stiles stops chewing and his jaw might drop a little but. “ _ In love with Derek _ ? What the hell, Scott? You just automatically jump to  _ love _ ?”

“Well, you don’t love Lydia.” Scott looks earnest and like he doesn’t understand why Stiles has an issue with his question.

“And the obvious conclusion would somehow be that I  _ love _ Derek now?” Stiles scoffs before taking another bite of chicken. “I’m not in love with Derek and he doesn’t even like me, Scott. That stuff you read was just bullshit.”

Scott just stares at him for several long seconds. Stiles works his way through most of the Moo Goo Gai Pan before Scott parrots, “Bullshit.”

“Yeah. Bullshit, Scott. Of the douchebag variety.”

Stiles slumps a little and just pokes at his fried chicken with the fork. He’s not very hungry anyway. Instead, his stomach is too busy being knotted up with longing and hurt. He clears his throat.

“But you like him, Stiles. You said ‘Derek doesn’t even like me’ but you didn’t say that you don’t like him.” Damn Scott for his random bouts of shrewdness. “You think he really doesn’t like you? Do you really think Derek is honestly that big of a jerk?”

The way Scott’s voice cracks a little makes Stiles wince. Derek is Scott’s brother before anything else and Stiles knows Scott can’t deal with the idea that Derek might be an actual asshole—instead of just acting like one every now and then. Besides Scott’s need to believe in his brother’s innate goodness, Stiles takes a minute to actually think about it.

He’s been running away from the alternative. Because if Derek’s not just been stringing him along—making super inappropriate jokes and being borderline abusive—then that means Derek is genuine in his interest. That means Stiles’ crush has the opportunity to grow and blossom into something  _ real _ with Derek. It means Stiles hasn’t been the only one affected by all the freaking tension. And the kiss. That kiss had been the real deal then—if we’re working under the assumption that Derek isn’t the world’s biggest asshole. That’s…that’s just…

“No,” Stiles scrapes what’s left of the food his dad gave him into the bottom of the container and closes the box, “Derek’s not a complete ass but sometimes he really is. He probably didn’t mean to take things so far but we kind of had a fight about it.” Stiles corrects himself. “Are. We are kind of fighting about it right now, actually.”

“ _ Stiles _ .” Scott huffs. “What did he say when he, you know,  _ kissed _ you? Did he laugh in your face?”

He really, really doesn’t want to have this conversation. Yes, he’s glad that Scott knows he’s dealing with this crazy mess, but that doesn’t mean he wants to talk about it, okay?

“Yeah, no Derek definitely declared his undying devotion for me and like gave me his class ring and asked me to go steady.” He glares at Scott even though his best friend doesn’t deserve it. 

“No, what Derek actually did was call me frustrating. That’s it. He kissed me and called my frustrating. Oh, he also called me a cock tease, but that was earlier in the car on the way to get the food. So, clearly, I’m making a huge deal out of nothing and I should just fall into Derek’s arms and like ride off into the sunset or something, right?” His words are dripping in sarcasm and derision.

Scott blinks a slowly a few times, processing everything Stiles just word vomited. “He called you a…” He makes a disgruntled face and continues, “and he kissed you and called you ‘frustrating?’” They’re rhetorical questions so Scott doesn’t bother to wait for an answer.

“Dude, that  _ sucks _ . But like you know Derek. He’s really crappy at feelings and stuff. Like he pretty much never tells Mom he loves her—even though he obviously does—and when he’s mad he just like bottles it all up and takes it out on himself.” Scott gets contemplative. “I wonder if that’s part of the reason he’s been spending so much time at the gym lately."   


“Whatever, Scott.” He gets up and exchanges his food for an XBOX controller. “I need to kill stuff; you in?”

Scott just rolls his eyes but says, “Totally.”

Ten minutes into their first game, Stiles remembers to be a good friend. “You and Maddie, huh? Little bow chicka bow wow?” He nudges Scott with his elbow and crows when he hits him on screen.

Scott pushes Stiles but can’t wipe the grin off his face. “No man. We’ve just been talking and stuff. She’s pretty cool and really nice. She’s into  _ The Walking Dead _ and she’s on the dance team at her school.”

“Sounds like the perfect girl then. For you at least.” Stiles’ grin melts into a momentary scowl when Scott kills him and he has to re-spawn.

“She’s pretty great.” Scott smiles wistfully for a moment before sighing. “How are we doing tomorrow night? Maddie’s sister wants Derek to come over too which I’m totally against for like  _ reasons _ .” Stiles rolls his eyes fondly at Scott’s loyalty. “But according to Maddie, Rachel will be a pain in the neck if she doesn’t have something to distract her. And I definitely want you to come too because it’ll be awkward if I’m there by myself.”

“Dude, like you won’t be making out the entire time. You probably wouldn’t even notice if me and Rachel were dancing around naked, sacrificing puppies.”

“Dude, no. Sacrificing puppies is just  _ wrong _ . Can’t you like just make up with Derek? You guys need to work out whatever crap is going on anyway.”

Scott reaches over to Stiles’ controller and hits the pause button before turning to look at him fully. 

“That’s what I want for my birthday. I want you and Derek to talk things out and either get together—away, far away, from me—or decide that both of you are cutting out this dirty talking, weird sexting thing because it’s creepy and I don’t need any more of those visuals. Mainly though, I don’t like seeing you all bent out of shape and I don’t like the idea of my brother being a jerk to you. I really don’t like the idea of my brother moping over your stupid butt because you’re being  _ stupid _ about everything. So like, kiss and make up.” Scott makes a face at his word choice. “Or don’t. Don’t kiss around me. Ew. I mean, just like stop fighting. Please?”

It’s one of those times where that saying “speak of the devil and he shall appear” really applies because the door to their room opens and Derek shuffles in after scanning the room. He looks resigned when he spots Stiles but doesn’t say anything as he goes over to his bag and rifles through it for a minute. Scott nudges Stiles really obviously but, thankfully, keeps his trap shut. Stiles shoots Scott’s avatar and then keeps shooting him every time he re-spawns, even if it is bad etiquette. He doesn’t stop killing Scott until Derek crosses their eye line and shuts himself in the bathroom to take a shower.

Scott hits Stiles with a pillow. “Who’s the jerk now?”

Rubbing at his nose, Stiles mumbles, “Fine. I’ll try this talking thing of which you speak.” Under his breath, he says, “Not that it’ll do a whole lot of good.”

“Hey, so, um…” Scott wiggles around on the end of the bed as he tries to gather to courage to ask this next thing, reluctantly, “is that the real reason why you wanted to you know….with me? Like were you trying to figure out if you’re into dudes or something?”

“What? No!” Stiles shoots Scott a dark look despite the flush creeping up his neck. “I was serious about practicing because I don’t want to be terrible at it. That was—I thought we weren’t talking about that. Ever.”

Scott scratches at the back of his neck. “I won’t bring it up again because that was definitely like a one-time thing but I was just curious. You can’t blame me for wondering, especially after all this stuff starts happening like  _ right after _ .” Then he gets a horrified look on his face. “Oh God, please tell me Derek doesn’t know. Please,  _ please _ tell me he doesn’t know about us.”

Panicking, Stiles slaps a palm against Scott’s mouth and leans forward so he can see the shut bathroom door from where he’s sitting. “Would you  _ shut up _ ! No, he doesn’t know about it, Scott. Sheesh. Like things aren’t already weird enough between us without him knowing that we made out a little.”

Face red, Scott shakes his head. “Okay, okay. Good. Never speaking of this again. Right.” He takes a few deep breaths and his face starts to go back to its normal color.

Right at that moment, Stiles laughs. This is ridiculous. “Oh my God, Scott. Do you know what? I’ve kissed both McCall brothers.” It’s a hysterical laugh that erupts out of him, causing him to bend over and hold his belly with the force. Tears gather at the corners of his eyes because Scott looks like someone just told him that all of the McDonalds in America just burned down and he’ll never ever get to have another Big Mac. “Oh my God,  _ I’ve kissed both McCall brothers _ . That’s like—that’s like one of those weird fantasies you hear people having. But—“

A pillow gets thunked across Stiles’ face in rapid fire as if Scott is trying to keep him from being able to open his mouth again. “Disgusting! Shut up, Stiles! Shut up!  _ Ew _ !” He’s kind of laughing too now though so Stiles knows he’s not in any real trouble. “My mind has been violated so much tonight I think I’m going to need some serious therapy. And I’m billing you for it because it’s all your fault!”

Deflecting the attack with one arm as he tries to grope backwards for another pillow, Stiles says, “I was  _ gonna _ say that that’s not one of  _ my _ fantasies!” He’s grabs the pillow he brought from home and thwacks Scott soundly on the side of the head. “Stop hitting me!”

Scott doesn’t stop and it really just descends into a pillow fight and then they’re wrestling on the bed, video game forgotten. Elbows go flying and hit vital, sensitive places, even as boney knees knock. They’re both pretty intense about it but Scott has to give up after a few minutes because he’s having trouble breathing. Sacked out across Stiles’ stomach, he stretches for his inhaler on the bedside table and takes a hit off it. While he’s holding his breath to let the medicine seep into his lungs, Stiles pinches his side.

“Get off me,” he wheezes because Scott is lying like right on top of him.

In retaliation, Scott drops his full weight on Stiles for a few seconds before rolling away. He scoots down to rest his head against Stiles’ thigh and catches his breath. Stiles folds his arms behind his head and smiles softly at the ceiling. It’s really awesome to have such a great friend who manages somehow to get him out of his own head—even if that friend is also trying to wheedle Stiles into doing healthy things like  _ talking about his feelings _ .

Derek must be finished with is shower because the bathroom door opens and a cloud of steam escapes before Derek emerges in just a pair of black pajama pants. He’s not facing the room yet and instead is busy wetting his toothbrush at the sink. Without thinking about it, Stiles pushes himself up on an elbow so he has a better view of Derek’s toned and wide back. It looks slick with water and kind of inviting.

Scott reaches up and smacks Stiles with the back of his hand so Stiles jiggles his leg to make Scott slide off him.

Having spit out the toothpaste froth and rinsed out his mouth, Derek turns around but pauses. He looks at where Stiles and Scott are piled on the bed and narrows his eyes at them. Stiles blushes because the picture they make might look a little less innocent in a certain light. Both of them are still breathing a little heavy, faces a bit pink, and the sheets and blankets are all twisted up around the foot of the bed now. It doesn’t help that Stiles’ shirt is still rucked halfway up his chest from where he’d been trying to wind away from Scott’s tickling fingers.

“Will you get my food?” Scott tries his best pouting look and his stomach grumbles as if on cue.

Derek rolls his eyes and ducks back into the bathroom to grab the clothes he’d just been wearing. “Go get it yourself, Lazy. It’s not my fault you decided to drag Stiles off without your food so you two could do whatever.” He looks way more pissy than Stiles thinks Derek has a right to; it’s like he’s accusing them of doing something wrong. Like he’s jealous of his own brother or something.

“We were  _ talking _ .” Stiles snips as he sits up and snatches one of the controllers that managed not to get kicked off the bed during their wrestling match. He unpauses the game and nudges Scott without looking over at Derek. “Come on, let’s finish this game and then I’ll go get your food. Because I’m awesome like that.”

Scott unearths the other controller from the bedspread on the floor. “Yeah okay.” Looking at Derek where he’s now sitting alone on his own bed, he asks, “You wanna play the winner?” He’s hopeful and earnest.

Stiles can feel Derek’s brief glare on the side of his head but then Derek says, “Yeah, I’ll take on the winner.”

Stiles may or may not let Scott win (because Stiles might be a coward sometimes) so he tosses his controller over to Derek when the game is over and retrieves Scott’s now cold Lo Mein from Dad’s room. For once, his dad doesn’t try and give him the third degree about why Stiles’ and Derek have been arguing all day. Instead, he invites him to stay and watch  _ Daredevil _ on TBS because they both really hate the movie and love making fun of it.

It’s a really tempting offer but Stiles declines the break it would give him from being around Derek and being constantly reminded of their weirdness. He can’t seem to make himself let everything go. Because despite the fact that Derek  _ must _ be having a go at Stiles for fun, a part of Stiles really wants to believe that maybe there’s something more to it. And he’d rather be miserable sitting in the same room as Derek than having a little fun with someone who’s  _ not _ Derek.

Yes, Stiles is aware that he is a messed up kid who apparently really  _ does _ have masochistic tendencies at times.


	11. Chapter 11

Stiles has the awesome talent of being able to fall asleep  _ anywhere _ , in any position. On top of that, he usually even ends up getting decent sleep despite the fact that his head might be bent at a seventy degree angle or his legs are folded up under his butt because he’s sleeping in a three foot space. So, generally, sleep is not an issue, okay? Lots of people are envious of this ability.

The only thing that can keep him from getting good rest is anxiety and/or his mind refusing to shut off. This, surprising no one who actually knows Stiles, is more of a problem than not. ADHD only exacerbates the fact that he’s kind of a smart guy who enjoys speeding through mental challenges—connecting the dots of information. So when he does get stuck on a thought, Stiles finds himself worrying over it continually like if he stops thinking about it for a couple hours, then it’ll never be fixed,  _ ever _ .

And this is why Stiles ends up with only snatches of sleep, staring up at the dark ceiling most of the night and cataloguing both the unfamiliar and familiar noises in the hotel room. The A/C unit kicks on and off three times, one set of ladies walk by their door talking loudly about politics of all things, and two emergency vehicles speed by in the distance, sirens wailing faintly. Scott snuffles and smacks his lips in his sleep. Derek kicks the sheets fitfully once and makes two short, distressed moans sometime around three but doesn’t seem to wake up from whatever dream or nightmare he’s in.

That’s what catches Stiles’ attention, brings his mind back to the present from where it’d been drifting down a spiral of doubt and self-loathing. He turns onto his side and faces the other bed. Eyes long adjusted to the scant light, he takes in Derek’s profile where the older boy is lying on his back, one leg out from the covers with the other tangled up in bedding. It looks like his mouth is pulled down in a scowl as he jerks his head to the side a couple of times. Stiles holds his breath to keep from snapping Derek’s name into the otherwise quiet room. Derek settles after a minute or so, face relaxing as his breathing slows into something slow and steady.

Stiles tucks his hands up under the side of his face and curls into himself to wait for it—wonders if it will happen again.

After a good thirty seconds, Derek mumbles “Please."

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Stiles eases out of bed. Scott doesn’t even twitch at the shift of the mattress when Stiles’ weight leaves. It’s only a step and a half between the two beds and then he’s perching beside Derek’s waist and looking down at him with eyebrows knit in thought.

Derek looks almost peaceful, if a little bit tight around the edges of his mouth. But he’s still asleep and vulnerable. Stiles can’t help but remember the handful of times he and Scott had dared themselves to prank Derek during sleepovers. Warm water, shaving cream, and feathers all used to annoy and incite rage in the older boy. It seems like Stiles should be flicking Derek’s forehead or something. Instead, Stiles just sits there quietly and still (no one believes Stiles can do this, but obviously he can when he wants to) and watches the steady rise and fall of Derek’s chest.

He’s being a creeper or a stalker kind of but Stiles is working up to something.

Derek turns then—curves into Stiles—so he’s one side of a parenthesis. He nuzzles into the pillow and huffs as his arms fold across his chest.

“Derek, hey.” Stiles whispers so lightly into the darkness that no one can hear him. His throat is tight from disuse and he has a reflexive need to clear it but that would call too much attention. 

He tries again anyway, despite the discomfort. If this doesn’t work, then he’ll give up and call it quits. “Derek.”

Derek’s eyes snap open and he starts, fingers gripping his upper arms as he scans blindly for what woke him. He finds Stiles and relaxes.

“What are you doing?” Derek’s voice is creaky as he wipes at his eyes with a hand, blinks up at Stiles.

Stiles glances over to where Scott is still sleeping. “We need to talk.”

Lifting his head up to see the alarm clock by the TV, Derek raises an eyebrow. “At three thirty in the morning?” He drops back down to the bed, arms crossed tightly over his chest again as he stares down Stiles.

“Yeah.” Stiles stands up so the bedding isn’t trapped around Derek anymore. “Come on.” He makes a ‘hurry up’ motion with his hands before grabbing his keycard and opening their door with as little noise as possible.

Derek meets him in the hallway a few seconds later. He’s put on a dark Henley and is in his flip flops, hair still mussed and soft. Squinting at the sudden light from the hallway, he gripes, “What do you want, Stiles?”

And yeah, it’s not like Stiles doesn’t know the answer to that already. He just wants to know what Derek actually wants. If he wants anything at all.

Instead of answering him with anything helpful, Stiles just shrugs and heads toward the elevator and hits the ‘down’ button. Derek mutters something but follows behind him until they are both standing at the silver doors, waiting. The silence between then stays during the ride to the lobby and as they walk outside the doors leading to the beach access. They get the hairy eyeball from the front desk clerk but the woman doesn’t actually stop them from leaving.

Derek eventually gets fed up with waiting and pulls Stiles over to one of the tables in the corner of picnic area. “Are you going to tell me why you decided to wake me up in the middle of the night and bring me out here?” He lets go of Stiles and crosses his arms in frustration.

Hoisting himself up to sit on the table, Stiles clasps his hands between his knees and gives Derek a steady look. “Scott knows something’s up between us. He read the texts.”

“Holy hell.” Derek runs a hand over his face and groans. “You didn’t _delete_ _them_?”

Even though he was expecting the reaction, Stiles still snaps out, “ _ No _ , I didn’t expect anyone to be using my phone, Derek. Anyway, I wouldn’t have anything to delete if you weren’t such an asshole with a dirty fucking mouth. Jesus, I can’t believe you.”

Derek looks sufficiently chastised for just a moment before he rolls his eyes. “Delete them, Stiles. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know you shouldn’t keep that kind of stuff on your phone. What if you dad had found them?”

Like, clearly, Derek wants to pin this shit on Stiles or something.

Scrubbing his head with both hands, Stiles tries to focus here. It’s not actually about the damn texts—not only about the texts anyway. 

“Look, forget about it, Derek. I’ll take care of it in the morning.” He looks up at Derek through his eyelashes because he’s not quite brave enough to look at him full on now. “So Scott knows and I talked to him about it.” 

When Derek blushes and opens his mouth like he’s going to yell some more, Stiles barrels on. “He’s not freaked out anymore. He made me promise to do this, actually.” He waves a hand between himself and Derek. “So, here’s me talking to you.” He drops his hand lamely and looks at the ground, out of steam.

“O…okay. Scott knows.” Derek shakes his head like he just can’t wrap his mind around this—like he thinks it’s the end of the world. He takes a cleansing breath before stepping a little closer to Stiles. “What are we talking about here?”

He can’t help it; he rolls his eyes. “What’s been going on. Duh.” But he stops for a second. “I’m only doing this once and I’m only doing it because a) Scott made me promise and b) because crazy doesn’t actually suit me too well. So all this stuff: the weird flirting and sexting and um…the car and whatever—what is it all about?”

Derek is silent, face impassive. Because of course it is.

Stiles huffs and leans forward to get up but then there’s a hand on his chest stopping him from moving too far. Derek steps forward again, places himself between Stiles’ knees. Stiles swallows reflexively and looks up.

Fingers twisting a little in the material of Stiles’ shirt, Derek asks, “What do you want it to be about?”

“Total bull, Derek. Don’t try and turn it around on me.” Stiles circles Derek’s wrist with his right hand but doesn’t push him away. “Answer the question.”

“I’ve already done that.” Derek looks up from where he’d been staring at his fingers in Stiles’ shirt. “I want you.”

The honest way Derek says that—the openness on his face then—leaves Stiles shocked and blinking. He’d been ready to punch Derek—split his lip and make him bleed—for being an asshole that plays with people’s emotions, leads them on. So the fight that Stiles had been trying to prepare himself for isn’t needed. He’s left sitting there, feeling numb.

And then it really sinks in. He tightens his grip on Derek’s wrist and tugs a little. Derek comes forward until he’s deep in the V between Stiles’ legs. “You’re serious.”

Puffing out a laugh, Derek rolls his eyes. “That’s what I’ve been saying. I—I thought you knew already. But then you flipped on me earlier.” He looks back down to where his hand is still pressed against Stiles’ chest—can probably feel how fast Stiles’ heart is beating—and slowly slides it up, curves it around the juncture of Stiles’ shoulder and neck. He squeezes there and the tendons in Derek’s wrist jump against Stiles’ palm. “So what do you want, Stiles, because I’m really fucking tired of you jerking me back and forth.”

He can’t help it. “ _ Me _ !?” But then he reels himself back in because that’s not really the point here. That’s so not the point. “I…yeah me too. Yes. I want.” He clears his throat and can’t stop from reiterating. “Yes I want this. Very much.”

Derek smiles for the first time since they were at the beach and it’s beautiful, predatory, and victorious. Then he simply leans forward, hand moving to cup the back of Stiles’ neck as he kisses him. It’s familiar and has hints of their kiss in the hallway. But for all its sameness, it’s different.

Stiles deepens the kiss and licks inside with a light moan he can’t hold back. Dropping his hand from Derek’s arm, he spreads his fingers to slot against Derek’s ribs. The fabric there is skin warm and he can feel the muscle stretched tight over bone. Derek shifts forward and grips Stiles’ thighs to pull him flush while he tilts his head to the side for a better angle at the kiss. Stiles automatically clenches his legs around Derek’s hips and when he feels the hardness in Derek’s pajama bottoms rub against his own, Stiles digs his fingers into the flesh beneath, overwhelmed.

“Take that back upstairs, boys.” A bored female voice washes over Stiles’ senses from far away. He’s sucking on Derek’s tongue one second and then Derek’s pulling away and dropping his head to Stiles’ shoulder.

“Fuck.” Derek bemoans even as his hips roll into Stiles for a dirty grind.

Stiles leans back a little so he can look back at the front desk clerk who must have come outside for a smoke break. He tightens his thighs briefly where he’s got them around Derek but then pushes him back. His face is hot with embarrassment at getting caught. A quick look at Derek shows that the older boy is at least a little embarrassed too.

They shuffle past the front desk clerk, both pulling at the hems of their shirts to try and hide just how preoccupied they’d been with each other. The woman just scoffs and flicks the ashes of her cigarette like this isn’t the first time she’s had to break up a make out session in the middle of the night.

Once they are inside and past the lobby, waiting on the elevator, Stiles reaches out and grabs Derek’s hand. They exchange a look, grinning like idiots.

“Oh my God. I can’t believe we got busted.” Stiles hisses, cheeks still pink but he doesn’t care.

Derek laughs. “She’ll get over it. At least she didn’t call our parents or something.” He tugs Stiles into the elevator car when the doors open and pushes the button for their floor.

Using his free hand to cover his face in horror, Stiles nods. “Yeah, okay, that would have definitely been worse.” He takes a couple breaths and Derek squeezes his hand.

Stiles takes that as an invitation to lean over and kiss him again. It’s quick if a little hard; he nips at Derek’s bottom lip before pulling back with a sly grin.

“Ugh, you’re killing me,” Derek mumbles but the elevator doors open again and they’re on their floor now. He crowds Stiles up against their door when they get to it even as Stiles is trying to fish out the keycard from his pocket.

Stiles shivers when Derek bites down lightly on the back of his neck and sucks. He pushes backwards into the resistance of Derek at his back, finds an answering hardness against his ass. Elbowing Derek in the ribs gently, Stiles pants out, “Cut it out, man.” The little green light flashes at him on the lock but he can’t manage to get the handle turned in enough time because Derek’s fingers are edging forward on his hips, slipping under the elastic of both his pajama pants and his boxers.

“Want me to cut it out while you’re doing that?” Derek growls into Stiles’ ear, fingers sliding into the dip of Stiles’ hips.

And yeah, Stiles hadn’t quite realized he was still grinding backwards against Derek. But damn it feels good and the way Derek is not very subtly sliding his fingers down, down, down into his boxers, Stiles knows things could feel _even_ _better_. But. Yeah.

“Stop,” Stiles whines and tries the keycard again until he’s able to actually use his hands right and open the stupid door. “We  _ can’t _ . Not right now.” He drops his voice to a harsh whisper as he squints into the darkness of their room.

Derek follows closely behind him, gripping his hips in a hot, sweaty hold. “It’s like everyone is against us right now.” He’s being petulant, like he’s just had his favorite toy taken away. Stiles smiles. “Sleep with me.”

Stiles looks over his shoulder at where Derek is standing just a few inches behind him. “Derek…” he pleads.

“No. Just  _ sleep _ . Come on, Stiles. Scott already knows, right?” He pushes at Stiles, guides him towards his bed. They go a few feet forward until Stiles knees bump against the mattress and they have to separate to get in.

Derek’s right hand dips down further into Stiles’ boxers and he briefly, so fucking briefly, squeezes Stiles’ aching dick, then ghosts his fingers up until he’s freeing both his hands. “Sleep with me, Stiles.”

Gasping in shock and arousal, Stiles makes to snatch Derek’s fingers and  _ put them back _ . “You’re the cock tease now, Derek.” He whines when Derek just bites at his shoulder through his shirt and climbs onto the bed.

Scott turns onto his back and smacks his lips. That has Stiles flinching and quickly sliding under the sheets beside Derek. “You’re evil and you’re going to get us caught. I’m pretty sure that Scott told me he didn’t want to see  _ anything _ .”

Manhandling Stiles until he’s pulled over and leaning his head on Derek’s chest, Derek tightens his arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “We’ll be good then, I guess. For now.”

In retaliation, Stiles throws his leg over Derek’s and grinds into his hip. He turns his head into Derek’s pec to muffle the moan that tries to escape.

Derek moves his hand down until he’s able to close his fingers around Stiles’ hip again; he squeezes and tugs backwards a little. “ _ Be good, Stiles _ .” When Stiles takes a few calming breaths and stills his hips, Derek shifts his hand down a little more.

It takes a long time for Stiles to fall asleep because he’s still hard and Derek’s fingers are resting on the swell of his ass like he owns it or something.

* * *

“My eyes!  _ My eyes _ !” Stiles jerks awake because Scott is sitting up in his bed yelling about his stupid freaking eyes. “ _ Stiles _ , I told you not to do anything around me!” Scott is shooing him with one hand while the other is blocking Scott’s view of Stiles and Derek.

Stiles shifts onto his back and stretches, pressing his lower back down on where Derek’s arm is now trapped between him and the mattress. “Happy birthday, Scott.”

Not surprisingly, Scott manages to get over his sensibilities enough to come over and whop Stiles over the face with a pillow. What’s with this kid and pillows, anyway? Stiles rolls over, on top of Derek and then over some more, pulling Derek with him until he’s got a literal body shield to protect him from Scott and that damn pillow.

“Oh no, save me, Derek!” He’s being a little sarcastic but then again, he’s so rarely ever not sarcastic. Still, he enjoys the way Derek hugs him close and rolls them a little more until he’s completely covering Stiles, settled between his legs.

The pillow attack stops abruptly. “Okay, you know what? I’m going downstairs for some breakfast and then I’m going to hang out with Mom and have a long discussion with her and your dad about what I want to do today. I’m going to have a big breakfast too and I have a lot of thoughts on what I want to do today—“

Derek speaks into Stiles’ neck, “I got a lot I want to do today too,” and pushes his hips forward just a fraction in case Stiles somehow missed the morning wood he’s sporting.

“Derek! Shut up! Sheesh.” There’s some rustling around but Stiles is too busy staring at the ceiling and trying his best not to hump Derek in front of Scott. “You guys owe me. So you can’t argue with what I decide I want to do today.” The door to their room opens and Scott adds with a sigh, “I guess I’m happy for you guys but you really gotta stop springing this stuff on me.”

Stiles finally looks over at Scott who is has switched his sleep shirt for a blue Reebok shirt that might actually be Derek’s. “So does that mean I have to fill out some kind of application and turn it in every time I want to make out with your brother?”

Scott just throws his hands up in the air and slams the door shut behind him. Well, Derek’s laughing anyway. Stiles smirks.

“You wanna make out?” Derek has pushed himself up on his elbows to look down at Stiles. “We should probably go brush our teeth first.”

Stiles shrugs. “We can kiss through morning breath. I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”

Derek rolls his eyes fondly and says, “You’re so giving, Stiles” before leaning down to kiss him.

And yeah, at first their mouths are kind of sour tasting but that goes away quickly enough until Stiles can’t imagine _not_ _wanting_ to suck on Derek’s tongue. Because if that makes Derek groan and scratch at Stiles’ pants, tugging them and his boxers down, Stiles really is more than happy to take that burden. The only problem with Derek’s plan though is the fact that he’s apparently not willing to lift himself up enough to actually get Stiles’ free of the pants. The fabric gets bunched up at their crotches and pulls at Stiles’ dick while Derek’s fingers dig into the soft flesh of his thighs until he just pushes his hands backwards and up and grips Stiles’ ass for all his worth.

It feels amazing and not enough in turns. He wants skin on skin but the pressure Derek’s got rolling into his dick along with the way Derek’s fingers press into his ass cheeks is enough to drive him to distraction.

“Derek, Derek,  _ please _ .” He pants out the words into Derek’s mouth, arching his hips into the slow and hard grind Derek’s got going on. Stiles threads his fingers through Derek’s hair, tugging on the short strands at the base of his skull.

“Wha? Yeah, okay.” Derek pulls back a bit and disengages his hands from Stiles’ ass long enough to pull the pants and boxers down Stiles’ legs. He shoves his own down far enough to free his cock and then they're pressed together again, shoving hips against hips as their dicks slide against one another, eased by the precome leaking from them both. “Fuck yeah.”

Stiles lets himself get lost in things for a few minutes, meeting Derek thrust for thrust before he gets an idea. Pushing against Derek’s chest, he says, “Move. Get off me for a minute.” He can’t help but lean up and maybe shove his tongue in Derek’s mouth for a few seconds though. Kind of counterproductive and all, but it feels damn good.

Derek finally does roll over onto his back and side eyes Stiles, chest heaving. His neck is flushed and his cock is standing at attention just below his belly button, its head shining.

Stiles can feel the blood heating his cheeks as he does this but he does it anyway. He climbs on top of Derek and sits on his thighs. His own dick is like an inch away from Derek’s now. Stiles stares Derek down and licks his lips before reaching up to slowly drag his tongue across his palm. Heart racing from feeling really turned on and just a little ridiculous, Stiles gets his palm good and wet. When he hears the sharp intake of breath Derek makes, Stiles smirks and sucks a finger in his mouth—just for show, because that apparently does something for Derek (if the way Derek’s cock jumped just then is any indicator).

He wraps his now wet hand around Derek’s dick and pumps it, tight on the base and loose on the head, twisting it on every down stroke like he likes himself. The way Derek jerks his hips up to meet Stiles’ hand makes Stiles feel powerful and  _ wanted _ . Derek is groaning behind bitten lips as he stares at where Stiles is jerking him off, hard and fast. It’s really hot and Stiles shudders a little as a little more precome leaks out of his own dick where it’s untouched at the moment. Derek’s fingers are digging into the back of knees like he’s trying to pull Stiles down for more contact but Stiles just wants this—wants to watch the way Derek loses it from his hand on Derek’s cock.

Derek manages to think far enough past the cloud of lust that has clearly taken over his brain. He makes to reach up with a hand for Stiles’ dick but Stiles just lifts himself up on his knees and bats Derek’s hand away. “Don’t,” his voice is shaky because part of him honestly does just want to come  _ right the fuck now _ but he wants to make Derek come first. “Let me.”

Stiles’ isn’t going to take it as a comment when Derek easily drops his hand back down to pull at Stiles’ knees again as he arches his back, head pressing back into the pillow. The play of muscles on Derek’s chest and stomach—God those ab muscles—is mesmerizing. Stiles reaches forward and runs his free hand over them, swiping his thumb over the head of Derek’s cock before speeding up.

“Stiles, not gonna last much longer.” Derek grunts the words out, finally squeezing his eyes shut like he can’t take in any more of what’s right in front of him without falling apart right then. Stiles moves down and catches Derek’s mouth in an open kiss, letting Derek fuck his tongue in his mouth as he tightened his grasp on Derek, keeping the same fast speed.

Moving to drop kisses along Derek’s jaw, he says, “Keep your eyes open, Derek.” He grins at his own wit—throwing those words back in Derek’s face as he works to get him off. It’s heady and amazing to feel Derek tilt his head up so he can watch himself come between them with Stiles’ fist still pumping him.

“Stiles,” Derek moans out deep and long as he pulses between them.

When Derek’s hips start to slow and his head falls backwards onto the pillow again, Stiles leans back up and looks down at the mess. He wants to lick it but instead, he just smears some on his hand before he wraps it around his own dick, using the come to make the slide so easy. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and lets his head tilt backwards, getting lost in just how damn good it feels to get some real pressure and friction on his cock. He’s alternating between breathing in and out really hard and holding his breath, chasing the orgasm that’s not really going to take long to achieve.

Stiles feels Derek’s fingers heading up his thighs until they grip the tops, thumbs pressing in and framing Stiles’ groin. He chances a glance down to see the slightly glazed look on Derek’s face as his eyes track up from where Stiles is getting himself off to Stiles’ own heated gaze. He pulls Stiles down tightly so there’s a pressure on Stiles’ balls every time Stiles comes down from fucking up into his fist.

“Stiles, Stiles. Do it.” Derek croaks the words out and it shouldn’t sound as sexy as it does, because it’s not like Derek’s even  _ saying _ anything sexy but Stiles can’t stop himself.

He strains up against the tight hold Derek has on his thighs and comes, hot streaks landing on his hand and Derek’s stomach. He lets out one long groan and strokes through the aftershocks until just before he gets too sensitive. Then, Stiles promptly flops over onto his side with a breathy laugh.

“Best birthday weekend.”

One of Derek’s hands rests on Stiles’ calf where it’s draped over his legs; he shakes it a little. “Happy birthday?”

They’re both still laughing a little when Stiles manages to pull himself together enough to sit back up. Derek’s still just lying there, eyes half shut—looking really pleased with himself and really tired at the same time. Stiles eyeballs the mess on Derek’s stomach which he’d contributed in making even worse just a minute ago. With a shrug, he moves forward and licks at it.

Derek’s stomach jumps under his tongue and his hand automatically comes up to cradle the back of Stiles’ head even as he asks, “You sure you want to do that?”

Stiles licks two more times before pulling back and making a face. It’s not the most pleasant taste in the world. Derek’s fingers tighten against his skull for a second before falling away.

“Maybe not. That’s a lot of come.” Stiles grins sheepishly. “I just thought you’d think it was hot.”

Derek next words are muffled because he’s pulling the shirt off that neither of them bothered to discard earlier. Both their shirts had gotten rucked up below their armpits, actually. 

“No, it is. It really fuckin’ is. But if you keep doing that, I’m probably going to get turned on again in like ten minutes. I don’t think Scott would be as forgiving about actually walking in on us having sex as he was when we were just sleeping together.” He’s mopping up the mess with his shirt now, concentrating on getting it all.

 

Between the shirt Stiles ruined yesterday and now this one, Stiles kind of wonders if Derek is going to run out of shirts to wear before they go home tomorrow. Stiles, doesn’t really mind that prospect. He takes the shirt from Derek and finds a clean spot to wipe away the little bit of come that managed to get on him too.

It takes them over a half hour to get cleaned off enough and dressed to be seen in public. That may or may not be due to the fact that there was a lot of kissing and groping going on.

 


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end!

“Do you think it's true that the upperclassmen really prank the freshmen on the first day of school?” Scott asks from somewhere deep in his closet. He's looking for  _ the perfect outfit  _ to wear tomorrow. Stiles already knows he's going to be wearing his black Star Wars shirt with his favorite red and grey plaid shirt. Not that he's worried about making impressions on his first day at high school or anything. 

Stiles kicks his feet where they hang off the bed as he stares up at the ceiling. “Probably. But I bet it's something lame like misdirecting kids who don't know where their class is. Besides, if something bad was being planned, Derek would tell us.”

Hands full of potential shirts, Scott steps away from his closet. “He'd tell  _ you _ .” He drops the clothes on top of Stiles's stomach. “He'd let me get bombarded with water balloons filled with mayonnaise and just laugh.” 

Stiles giggles at the imagery, delightfully disgusted. “Dude, that would be totally rank! C’mon though,” he starts holding up shirts and inspecting them, “If he told me about a prank, I would totally tell you. Bros before hoes, right? Here, try this.” 

Scott frowns, taking the green shirt Stiles holds out to him. “I think I'm offended on behalf of Derek.” He strips off the shirt he's been wearing all day, hair getting disheveled in the process. When he looks back up, he says, “You two dating is making my life, like, difficult, man. Don't call my brother a hoe. But I do appreciate you putting our friendship first.” He's got an amused look on his face, clearly perturbed by the weird predicament his relationship to Stiles's boyfriend puts him in. He holds his fist out for Stiles to bump. 

Laughing more fully, Stiles reciprocates, knocking his own fist against Scott's. “Brothers from different mothers,” he chants. “Put a shirt on though, there's only one McCall I wanna stare at shirtless, and you ain't him.” 

That earns him a shove to the shoulder with Scott's free hand. “Jerk,” he accuses, fondly. “Don't forget i was the first McCall you kissed.” He cackles madly, making a mad dash to get the shirt on as Stiles tackles him from the bed.

“I thought we weren't talking about that anymore!” Stiles pins Scott to the floor, grinning down at his best friend. “But if we are, I gotta say it was...eh.” He says it just to get a reaction, laughing when Scott hooks his arm around Stiles's neck and rolls the both of them over. Legs and feet go everywhere, tangling and kicking at each other. 

“Take it back! Take it back!” Scott's demanding when his bedroom door bangs open. 

Stiles spots Derek in the doorway, and instantly let's go of Scott to reach for him

“Dude, help!”

Derek crosses his arms, observing the pile Stiles and Scott are. “Help how?” 

Scott uses the distraction to sash Stiles's face to the floor and answer for him, “Don't worry about it! I win!” Then he backs off of Stiles, wincing when Stiles shoves his heel into Scott's thigh in retaliation. 

“Yeah, Derek drags the word out, before looking over at Stiles. His expression changes a little, softens some, and Stiles feels his stomach flutter. “Can I borrow you for a while?” 

Stiles scrambles to his feet. Over his shoulder, he says, “Just pick the green one. It looks good on you.” 

Scott flops backwards onto the floor with a huff. “You think so?” 

Stiles grins at Derek, face warming as he draws closer to him. Distracted a little, he says, “As your gay best friend, the green shirt has my stamp of approval.” 

Derek reaches out and hooks a finger in one of Stiles's belt loops. Teasing, he says, “I'm not sure your fashion sense is any better just because you're gay, Stiles.” 

Stiles pretends to ignore the tug Derek gives him, straightening out his hoodie and two t-shirts. “Layering  _ is in _ . Plaid is too.” 

“Come here,” Derek growls playfully, pulling Stiles the last few inches until their chests collide. 

Stiles hums into the kiss, tasting Derek's smile. 

A pointed cough behind him has Stiles reluctantly pulling back. He holds Derek's gaze while Scott complains. 

“No PDA in my room, remember?” He hits Stiles in the back of the head with a wadded up piece of paper. “Out!” 

Derek chuckles as Stiles apologizes, “Sorry, dude!” He shoves Derek out of the bedroom, following right on his heels. 

“What did you need to borrow me for?” He asks, face pressed into Derek's broad shoulder. They shouldn't be touching like this in the hallway, since Melissa is home tonight. But it's been getting more and more difficult to remember he shouldn't just reach out and  _ touch _ . 

School is going to be even harder. 

He sighs.

“In here,” Derek says, opening his bedroom door. He doesn't turn on the light, kicks the door closed behind them, and tugs Stiles along in the dim interior until they hit the bed and sit down. 

“In the dark?” Stiles looks around for whatever it is Derek wanted to show him. 

Derek shrugs. “Yeah.” 

Stiles narrows his eyes, face feeling hot as he asks, “Did you steal me away just to make out or something?” He leans into Derek's space, bracing a hand on one of Derek's legs.

“Maybe,” he answers, closing the distance and brushing his lips against Stiles's. “Are you mad about it?” He sounds pretty positive that Stiles  _ isn't.  _

“No.” Stiles even pretend otherwise as he climbs into Derek's lap, enjoying the stretch of his thighs either side of Derek's hips. It feels good, and it feels like he's getting away with something. “But Scott might be.” He runs his fingers up the back of Derek's head, through the hair there. 

Derek shrugs again. “Too bad.” Then he leans in, catching Stiles's mouth and kissing him deep.

It's like picking right back up from the previous kiss. Stiles groans a little into it, licking at Derek's bottom lip, teasing. Derek, for his part, chases Stiles. He delves inside, tongue smoothing along inside and leaving Stiles breathless. 

He can feel himself getting hard, can feel the answering hardness in Derek's track shorts. Stiles grinds into it lazily. 

“Hey,” Stiles says suddenly, gasping when Derek gets that sensitive spot below his head. “Is this going to be weird with school and stuff?” 

Derek faltets, lips still pressed against his skin but not moving. He pulls back. “No?” He pauses. “Is it?” 

Stiles drops his forehead to Derek's shoulder, glad for a whole other reason for the darkness. “I don't want it to be. But I mean, are you going to, like, talk to me at school?” 

Derek scoffs, and for one terrifying moment Stiles freezes. Then Derek continues. “Duh. I'm not going to ignore you.” 

Relief floods Stiles, but he still needs to ask, “What about the boyfriend stuff? Are you embarrassed that I'm so much younger than you?” His voice comes out brittle and a little high, making Stiles frown at himself and bury his face in Derek's shoulder more. 

They haven't told their parents about the new development yet, mostly because they know the unlimited access would be revoked. It would probably mean no more closed doors and fewer opportunities to sneak off alone. Dad and Melissa would, Stiles is reasonably sure, be cool about it, but they're still  _ parents _ . 

So they haven't told their parents, and they haven't really told anyone else since it's only been a couple weeks. The opportunity or need hasn't come up, since they've been spending all their time at the house. 

He's scared that once reality hits, once Derek's friends are all around, that Stiles will look like a  _ mistake _ . What junior wants to date a freshman? Especially a freshman like Stiles? 

“It's not a big deal, Stiles.” Derek smooths both hands down Stiles's back. “Two years is like, nothing.” 

Stiles can feel the cliff edge of despair that he's teetering on. After all, he's spent most of his life not being “cool enough” or hot enough for others to like him. He's weird and sarcastic and gangly. Derek is sexy and chill and sporty with his six pack abs and bulging biceps. 

“It is in high school years,” Stiles replies, moping even though he's really freaking relieved Derek isn't dumping him just because the summer is over. 

Derek kisses his cheek, hugging him tight. “Your my boyfriend, and I'm yours. If anyone has a problem with that, I can tell them exactly where to go.” 

Stiles grins, warm all over. “Okay.” He stays like that, wrapped in Derek's arms until Derek tips the down. “Hi.” He tugs Derek's shirt up enough to reach bare skin and draws mindless designs over his warmth. 

“Hi. Comfy?” Derek asks, too close for Stiles to focus on in the dark. One of his hands reaches down and hitches Stiles's leg up farther, bringing their hips closer together. 

“Could be a little more comfy,” Stiles says, pressing forward so their lengths brush. “I'm sorta hard, in case you missed it.” 

Derek's fingers flex on his leg and he grinds with more intent, leaning in to mouth along Stiles's neck. He kisses up to his ear and says, “I noticed.” 

Stiles is too diateacted to notice the sudden burst of light when the bedroom door opens, much less to notice who is the one that opened the door. Light suddenly gloods the room as the switch is flipped, and Stiles freezes against Derek. A squeak escapes his throat. 

“What--oh my God” Melissa exclaims. For some reason she slaps a hand over her eyes. “Derek! Stiles!” 

Derek rolls back as Stiles quickly scrambles into a sitting position. “Mom! What are you doing?” 

Melissa holds out a folded stack of clothes blindly until Derek gets up and takes them from her. “I was going to put away your laundry.” She peeks from between her fingers. When she sees they're no longer touching or even on the bed together, she drops her hand. “What are you two doing in here?” 

Stiles feels like his entire face is on fire. “Uh, just hanging out?” 

Melissa rolls her eyes and looks at Derek. “Do you have an actual answer?” 

“We were kissing. Because we're dating. So...yeah.” Derek can't quite look his mom in the eye, distracting himself by scratching the back if his neck. 

Melissa doesn't say anything for almost thirty seconds and Stiles might just die. He doesn't even blink until she opens her mouth. “Oh.” 

Stiles exchanges a worried look with Derek. He asks, “Oh?” 

Melissa slumps against the wall. “This was so not what i was expecting to happen tonight.” She chuckles lightly. When she looks at Stiles,  she's still smiling. “I'm a little surprised. Especially after how hostile you two were during most of the beach trip. But,” she shrugs, “I can’t say it's a complete surprise.” 

Derek seems to struggle with his mom's response. He frowns. “Why?” 

“All that passion for hating each other? You've got chemistry, for sure,” Melissa answers. 

“Ew, Mom, don't talk about chemistry,” Derek automatically responds, making a face. Stiles tosses a pillow at him because right now is  _ really _ not the time. 

Melissa shakes her head, pushing off from the wall. “Get over it, sweetie. Now,” she puts her hands on her hips--full parental mode. “No more kissing in the dark. And put away your clothes. These were done yesterday, Derek. You were supposed to already have them put away.” 

Stiles can't keep from asking, “Does that mean we can kiss if the light is  _ on _ ?” 

Melissa and Derek both groan. 

“What? You said ‘in the dark.’ It's a valid question!” Stiles defends himself. 

Melissa backs out of the room. “The light stays on and the door stays  _ open _ .” She looks at both if them pointedly. “I'll be around,’ she says ominously. 

Derek waits until she disappears before flopping down onto the bed. “Well, I guess it isn't a secret anymore."

Stiles feels lighter, happy. He  _ laughs _ . “I guess not.” He lies down next to Derek and hooks his chin over Derek's shoulder so he can kiss his cheek. “But your mom didn't say we had to stop kissing if the light's on.

Derek turns and grins, “She didn't.” He leans in, kissing the smile right off Stiles's face. 

 


End file.
